


Otherworldly

by Louffox



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Cecil is Inhuman, M/M, Magic, Monsters!, Slow Build, Witchcraft, alcoholic Cecil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 34,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil is the town oddball who lives in an ancient house and dresses improperly and drinks too much. And the town happens to unwillingly depend on him. More than most of them know. But his Lilithian blood has made it his responsibility, happy or not.<br/>Carlos found his way to Night Vale after being rejected for getting his doctorate. If there's one thing a scientist is, it's inquisitive. Carlos quickly befriends Cecil, a genuine character in the petty highbrow town. It doesn't take long to discover that Cecil's purple eyes are but one peculiarity about him. Witchcraft and malevolent elsethings follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perfect Smoke Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Victorian AU's seem to be a thing now. I've wanted to do one for a while, and hey look- Night Vale seems to be the perfect fandom to Victorianize! I've been working on this for about a month, so updates should be fairly regular. Lemme know what you think!

Professor Carlos Suresh eyed the party meditatively over the top of his glass. He was still slightly paranoid as to why he’d received the invitation. Maybe Mrs. Winchell hadn’t realized he was not a white man, perhaps she’d just heard a new professor had moved into the city of Night Vale and had sent an invitation without inquiring anything about him. The title ‘professor’ did lend him some credit- rarely did people expect someone with blood from India to be a professor. Though, he was actually a doctor, having earned his phD in the subject of biology in England, so being permitted to be called a professor was a slight nonetheless.

Things weren’t actually going too badly. He’d gotten a few sideways glances from a trio of men, but nobody had been rude yet. Most of the looks he got held nothing but curiosity. In some of the eyes of the women, he even saw admiration, and smoothed his vest self consciously. He was glad he’d chosen the straighter cut jacket, rather than the one with tails- it seemed that tails had not yet caught on in this secluded dusty city.

Uncertain of what to expect and fearful of bringing too much attention to himself, he’d stuck with his most conservative, best tailored clothes. A simple black jacket, black trousers, dark burgundy vest, white shirt, matching burgundy cravat. He’d forgone the hat- he so disliked what it did to his hair, and his curly black locks stuck out around the hat with an almost gleeful impertinence that denied any attempts to tame. It was a risk, going bareheaded, but it looked as though the other men had an even number of bareheaded to hatted, so he didn’t stick out.

He’d spoken briefly to a few other gentleman, and had made a friend in a fellow called Carlsberg, despite his shifting eyes and hollow cheeks, until he’d gone to attend to one of his friends, a Miss Simone, who had a frail constitution and was feeling unwell. So Carlos lingered at the edge of the party, enjoying a finger of whiskey. Mrs. Winchell kept a very nice bar- the women were given blood red wine, the men scotch or whiskey.

“Well, there’s a handsome devil if I’ve ever seen one,” a voice, cracked with age, cackled. He turned, eyebrow already raised, to acknowledge the woman who approached. She was an old, slightly hunched little woman, with white hair but a bright purple dress and hat with feathers. He could tell she had been quite a beautiful woman in her time, and kept very fashionable, despite her crumbling health.

“Professor Carlos Suresh. Pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking her gloved hand and kissing the back politely. She blushed and giggled like a school girl.

“Miss Jose Anxo, and I do believe the pleasure is mine.” He glanced at the two people who followed slightly behind her, and his eyes seemed to slide off them, his attention returning to Miss Anxo. She noticed his gaze and waved a hand carelessly. “These are my angels.”

Her words made him look again, but he couldn’t seem to look at them for more than a second- his attention wandered, and he found himself unable to really look. He had the impression that one of them may be black, but he could focus on no more than that. He didn’t even know what gender, but the curiosity bled away and he found himself easily forgetting about them.

“So you’re the new one, eh? I daresay, it’s about time you got here. My angels have been telling me you were coming for so long that I stopped listening. Though I was not expecting such a striking specimen,” she said with a bold wink. He swallowed nervously, and she laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite. Have you met many people around yet?”

“A few. Not many. That Carlsberg man seemed nice, though. And his daughter Simone was pleasant enough, though she could use some color in her cheeks. I gave him my calling card so he may bring her over so I could examine her,” he said, relieved to be chatting rather than standing alone.

“Carlsberg? He’s a nosey skunk,” she sniffed, and he blinked at her bluntness. “I have someone else to introduce you to. Come.” She turned and led the way across the room, to the door to the gardens. They were empty, save a single figure, back-to. In the darkness of the evening, Carlos couldn’t even tell what color his vest was- he wore no jacket in the hot desert air. The only distinctive feature he could see in the dark was that he was long-limbed with a trim, tapered waist, like the dancer figurine in his sister’s jewelry box that rotated and played high-pitched chiming music when she opened it.

“Cecil? Got someone to meet you,” Miss Anxo said, nudging Carlos forward with an unexpected strength.

“I’m tired, Jose, save your handsome socialites for another night.”

Carlos stood up straighter at the voice. He thought of strong tea with copious amounts of cream, turning it pale, of smooth butter streaked on soft bread, of the soft vanilla and caramel candies that his governess used to give him. Sweet and fluid and dark and alto.

The figure’s hand moved and he saw a glowing spark, the end of a long, thin cigarette between his fingers, and smelled the heady spice of tobacco, and three perfect smoke rings trailed upwards from the figure.

“Don’t be obstinate, Cecil. He’s a friend. Or will be a friend. Has been? Something like that, disregard the inconsistencies. Nobody cares about tenses anyways,” she said dismissively, and walked back inside, leaving Carlos unhappily alone with ‘Cecil’.

“So you’re Jose’s new pet? How-,” he stopped talking halfway through as he turned around. His eyes widened slightly. “How… erm, how… neat,” he stammered.

“Professor Carlos Suresh. Nice to meet you. I’m sorry that Miss Anxo has forced my company upon you, you seem preoccupied and ill suited for social action at the moment,” he said, not unkindly, with a half knowing smile. As a scientist himself, he often found himself craving solitude. Disengaging from people was familiar to him.

“No, no, I’m sorry, that was so rude of me,” the man all but begged, stepping forward to shake his hand enthusiastically. His eyes looked almost purple in the low light, and his smile was wide enough that Carlos could see his molars. “Cecil Palmer. Please, I didn’t mean to be off putting. I merely have a low tolerance for social niceties, and Jose is always trying to force me to interact.”

“Ah. I can’t empathize, but I can understand. Is she of any relation to you?” he asked politely, noting his informal use of her christian name.

“Jose? No,” he snorted, rolling his eyes in a juvenile gesture that Carlos found amusing rather than childish. “She only wishes. We have a few things in common, and she assumes that makes us kin, or something of the like.” He blew another perfect smoke ring as Carlos looked on appreciatively, and seemed to notice his gaze. “Would you like a smoke?”

“No, I don’t smoke,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve long since suspected that smoking can shorten one’s lifespan and cause irreversible damage to the lungs and voice. Though, you have a rather striking voice, and I hear no smoke rasp in it,” he said, then blushed. Was that a compliment? It sounded like a compliment in his mind, but when presented out loud, it almost seemed flirtatious.

“Thank you. My voice is, unfortunately, the least of my striking qualities,” he said cryptically. “As for smoking, I am unworried about shortening my lifespan or ruining my voice. I’ve been smoking as long as I can remember.”

“Even as a child?” Carlos quested, bemused.

“Yes. I’m told that my childhood was unorthodox, but it was mine and I believed it to be normal. I didn’t spend much time with other children, I wasn’t to know what was and what wasn’t normal.” He blushed, and huffed out two thin streams of smoke from his nostrils, like a painter’s brimstone demon. “I’m sorry, we’ve only just met and I’m discussing my childhood. How terribly dull,” he laughed.

“Not to worry. I harbor a scientific interest in life- I earned a Ph. D at Cambridge for biology. That includes psychology and sociology. It isn’t dull.”

“But you’re professor, not doctor,” Mr. Palmer observed.

“Because of my heritage, I can only say that I earned a degree, not that I received it,” he said bitterly.

“What hogwash! Hue be damned, I’ll henceforth refer to you as Dr. Carlos,” he laughed, and Carlos let out a startled laugh at his stark disregard for social etiquette.

“Are you French, Mr. Palmer?” he asked.

“Why, am I using foul language again? I think I am. I’m not sure,” he said, shrugging carelessly.

“No, because of your titles. Most would call me Dr. Suresh, but you use Dr. Carlos,” he pointed out. “A rather French habit.”

“Oh. Well, perhaps I am French. French- is that near Franchia? And for future notes, I would prefer to be called Cecil. The name Palmer belongs to me, but I’ve never felt as though I belonged to it, you know?”

“Alright, Cecil it is,” he said, though he did not ‘know’. “Also, it’s… it’s France, not French. I’ve never heard of Franchia,” he said with confusion. Who didn’t know about France?

“Oh. Well, last time I was in Europe, I travelled there. I highly recommend it, but don’t stay for too long or the monster will get you,” he warned knowingly. Carlos had no idea how to respond to that, so he just nodded. Cecil dropped the remains of his cigarette and ground it out under his heel. “It’s getting cooler out. Would you like to go back inside? I could use a drink.” He led the way inside, Carlos following and wondering how he’d befriended such a strange creature.

“I didn’t find it very cold out, but then, I’ve never spent much time in the South. I’ve never actually seen India, despite my heritage. I was raised in the northern region of the U.S., in Arkham,” he explained as they wandered back over to the bar.

“I’ve heard of the university up there- Miskatonic University? Why did you not attend school there?” Cecil asked, still leading the way, tossing his words carelessly over his shoulder.

“We moved to England just as I became the age to enter a university. My father was a very high class businessman, which is likely the only reason he was permitted to marry my mother, from India. And the only reason I could attend Cambridge. Have you never lived anywhere but Night Vale?” he asked as they approached the bar and retrieved drinks. Cecil sipped his and turned around.

“Good lord!” Carlos exclaimed, unable to restrain himself. Cecil tilted his head, a curious birdlike gesture, and Carlos finally found his words again. “Your eyes! They’re…”

“Strange? Grotesque? Ladylike?” the man said grumpily. His eyes were a deep violet, a color Carlos had never seen in the human iris. Not just blue- he’d seen some blue that looked faintly violet, but Cecil’s were unmistakably _purple_ , like the brightest amethysts, and seemed to contain about as much light as a crystal would. They put the royal hues of Miss Jose’s dress to shame, even.

“No, they’re fantastic! I wonder how they’ve achieved such a color, biologically?” Carlos mused, stepping forward and looking from one to the other. They were layered, like most eyes were- the inner ring around the pupil was more of a blue lapis sunburst, surrounded by the purple, with flecks of matte lavender. “Phenomenal,” he breathed.

“I, um… thank you?” he said, phrasing it like a question.

“Yes, yes, that was a compliment. You’re very welcome.”

“Well… thank you. Um, anyways… No, I’ve always lived in Night Vale. I did spend a year travelling across Europe. The usual adolescent exploring, you know? Svitz, Franchia, Luftnarp. I don’t remember a whole lot of it,” he said with a grin, changing subjects gracelessly. He seemed uncomfortable with the compliments. “I lived mostly on granola and cheap wine. Alcoholism is underrated.”

“As a doctor, I can’t say I approve,” Carlos laughed. “You know, I’ve never heard of any of those countries. Or are they cities?”

“Um,” Cecil said, then chuckled. “I’ll get back to you on that.” His eyes moved over Carlos’s shoulder, and he frowned. “Actually, we may have to put everything on hold. I must take my leave.”

“Oh?” Carlos said, turning to look. He saw a woman staring coldly at Cecil, and looked away quickly. “Who is that and why does she look so put out with you?”

“Because I’m only here because if I’m not invited, then Jose throws a fit and the town has a bit of a dependency on her. It’s all very complex,” he assured Carlos. “They would much rather I stay at my estate, door and gates closed. And that’s our lovely hostess, Mrs. Winchell.”

“Ah,” Carlos said as he took a swig of his drink, because he thinks she looks slightly crazed and grouchy, and because he doesn’t want to speak ill of the woman who had invited him. He realized that being seen with the apparent social pariah wasn’t going to do wonders for his own reputation, but rather than trying to get away, he felt protective of Cecil. Sure, he seemed to be a bit erratic and eccentric, but he was harmless. And very interesting.

Cecil downed his drink, tossing it back like a professional, and touched his forehead in what Carlos supposed was a formal gesture, much like doffing a hat, but Cecil was bareheaded as well. “I hope you find Night Vale more to your liking than this highbrow soiree,” he said teasingly, the word ‘highbrow’ coming out much like someone would say ‘horse shit’. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

“Doubtful, now that the only pleasant company is leaving me to the vultures,” Carlos laughed. He had an embarrassingly low tolerance for alcohol.

“I apologize. As a bid for your forgiveness, will you take my card? Come visit tomorrow. Ask anyone where the Palmer estates are, it’s easy enough to find. Just don’t come too early, I am not such a pleasure in the mornings,” he warned.

“I suppose it’s an acceptable bribe. I forgive you,” Carlos said, snickering. “You can expect me sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“Excellent! I’ll depart now while I’m winning. Have a good night!” he said with grandiose sweeping half-bow sort of gesture. And then he was gone into the crowd. Carlos continued to chuckle into his glass, amused by his strange new friend.

 


	2. Palmer Estate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things I forgot to mention:  
> Carlos's last name is Suresh because of the Heroes character, Mohinder Suresh, played by Sendhil Ramamurthy. He is my absolute top headcannon for Carlos (aside from a few fabulous cosplayers I follow on tumblr!) and it's a little tribute to that. Hullo, perfect hair.  
> A lot of things (that I won't go into now, to avoid spoiling the plot) are loosely based on ideas from books. The Bartimaeus Trilogy. The Black Tattoo. And maybe a smidge from the show Supernatural. Not to give anything away. ;D  
> I had more to say, but I don't remember now... ugh. Go ahead and read. Bon appetit!

Carlos’s driver knew exactly where the Palmer Estate was, though he seemed surprised that he was going to stay for a visit, rather than just driving by to stare at it.

“Is that what most people do? Drive by and gawk, like a zoo?” Carlos snorted.

“Yes.” Carlos frowned at the divider. He didn’t particularly like his driver, or the inn he was currently holed up until he found a more permanent residence. He hoped he could get situated and find servants and a driver that he liked within two months, but he wasn’t holding out too much hope- he was well known to lose track of time in his lab, and postpone anything and everything when there was science to do.

When they pulled up, he understood a bit why anyone would gawk. The place was like an entire section of the city itself.

The entire estate was massive. It was surrounded by a black iron fence. The thing looked to be about a half a square mile. The building was the size of a university library- four or five stories, the center tall and with a domed battlement, with the wings extending. It was like a castle, built of gray and black stone, an impressive amount of ivy creeping up the front. It looked gloomy and fairly empty, enough that he was rethinking his visit, but the driver had already opened the gate and stopped up front, letting him out.

He thanked him and got out hesitantly, looking at the building. He supposed he should try the front door, then. Well done, Carlos. Who have you gotten yourself involved with now? It looked ancient and looming and mysterious. He looked at the knocker and blinked. It was some sort of saber-toothed lion beast with a snake in its mouth as the ring to knock with. An ouroboros.

He gingerly knocked and then waited.

And waited.

He took off his jacket and folded it over his arm. It was hot outside.

Knocked again, and still waited.

Should he just leave? But no, he’d told his driver he’d either walk back or he’d ask Cecil to drop him back off. It wasn’t far, and he liked walking. He'd wait a little longer- it was a big house.

The door finally opened, and he turned and straightened. And frowned. Cecil was a sight to see. He looked decidedly haggard- he wore no jacket nor waistcoat, his cravat was half undone, and he was leaning slightly on the doorframe for support. His purple eyes were dull and heavy lidded, and he had red lines on his face like he’d fallen asleep on something, and a smear of what looked like chalk on his jawbone. His lips were chapped, his hair was sticking up, smoothed on one side like he’d tried to fix it on the way to the door, and his feet were bare. His entire demeanor was of raw exhaustion.

When he saw Carlos, his eyes got wide and he looked nothing short of horrified.

“Dr. Carlos! Dear void, I am so sorry, I clean forgot that you were coming!” he exclaimed, putting a hand over his mouth and looking more pale than usual.

Carlos laughed easily, brushing it off. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Though- are you alright?” he asked, worried at his ill appearance.

“Yes, yes- it’s nothing. I’m not ill, just a bit worn down. A cup of tea and a few sandwiches and I’ll be right as rain. Though, precisely how right rain is, I can’t be sure. Come in, I just put the kettle on and there’s plenty enough for two.” He held the door open wider so Carlos could enter. Immediately, he craned his neck to look up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Thank you. This place is amazing,” he observed. It was a bit medieval- all tapestries and chandeliers and stone.

“My family has owned this land for centuries. Well, I say family,” he said with a laugh that turned into a wracking cough. He paused halfway up the stairs to grasp the banister for support, coughing into his elbow. “I’m sorry. I should have known something like this would happen. Don’t worry, it’s nothing catching,” he reassured him, rubbing his throat gingerly.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Carlos offered, concerned.

“No, it’s fine. Thank you for the offer, though,” he added, coloring. “As I said, a few cups of tea and something to eat. Heavily honeyed tea, and I’ll be even better.”

He followed him through the giant hallways and doorways, feeling a bit like a child, tiny and insignificant to the great, aged halls. This house had seen decades, probably even centuries, and generation after generation live and die. He saved his questions- he didn’t want to make Cecil’s voice any worse.

They arrived in the kitchens rather than a dining room, which mildly confused Carlos, but didn’t exactly surprise him. There was a dark skinned girl no older than twenty years old pulling the kettle out from the fire. With her bare hands.

“Oh my God!” he cried, stepping forward, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, hello! Yes, fine thanks, how are you?” she replied calmly, putting the kettle on the counter. She’d held it in her bare hands, and he could see it was hot- obviously, it had just been in the fire, it was full of boiling water, there was steam coming out of it.

“I’m- but, your hands!”

“They’re… they’re fine,” she said hesitantly, looking from him to Cecil uncertainly. "Um... Cecil didn't tell me he was having visitors... Would you like cream? Sugar? Honey?” she asked, setting up a tea tray already piled with sandwiches. "I made enough sandwiches for both of you, though, I think."

“Thank you for the lunch, Dana, that will be all,” Cecil interjected before Carlos could say anything. She glanced at them again before departing.

“How is she unharmed?!” Carlos exclaimed.

Cecil evasively poured himself a cup of tea, not meeting Carlos’s eyes. “Just one of those things, I suppose.”

“One of- ‘ _One of those things_ ’?! What _things_?!”

“You know. Just those strange things.”

“No, I do not _know_.”

“Dana is a witch. Happy?”

Carlos gawped at him. “A… a witch.”

“Yes. Don’t worry, she’s eclectic, she’s relatively harmless. Unless you do something particularly offensive, she does have a bit of a temper,” he said, waving a hand carelessly and adding several heaping spoonfuls of sugar to his tea.

“You have a witch as your cook?” Carlos stated disbelievingly.

“Not just as my cook, she runs the house. She has a small army of familiars who help out. Cleaning, washing, driving- don’t worry, the familiars don’t drive, just her. Not after the last time,” he said, beginning to grin. Carlos got the impression that he was enjoying this.

“ _Why_ …" he stopped himeself and took a deap breath. "Okay. So you have a witch running your estate. That’s… a unique situation. But- please forgive my ignorance- I was led to believe that witches were… old. Hideous. Malevolent. And not real.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s ignorant,” Cecil snorted. “They- whoever ‘they’ are- got the part wrong about witches being not real. So why would you believe the other things they say?”

“That’s true,” Carlos conceded. “So what can she do?”

“Make a fine cup of tea, for one,” Cecil said, sipping appreciatively at his. “She can use her talent to help things along. Move things without touching them, handle fire without being burned, do multiple things at once. Give instructions to a large number of familiars at once. When I first hired her, we made an agreement that I would allow her to practice her craft as much as she desired in the safety of the estate if she did a few things around the house as a handsomely paid servant. We became good friends, and she’s all the help I’ve needed since. I offered her to live in one of the many guest suites, but she prefers the fresh air of outdoors. I helped her construct a tidy cottage at the edge of the back woods. This was about eight years ago.”

“How old were you when you hired her? How old was she?” Carlos asked, puzzled.

“I was sixteen, just returned from my year in Europe. I’ve no idea how old she is, I never thought to ask. Judging from the number of cats that follow her around, I would say a century or so.”

“A- a century!?”

“Carlos, sooner or later you’re going to have to accept that you’re a bit out of your element here. Night Vale is a place where you must let go of any preconceptions about what the world is like,” Cecil said seriously, tucking into a sandwich. “Eat. It’ll help with the shock.”

“I’m not in shock,” he grumbled, but bit into a sandwich as well. It was mostly vegetables and some cheese, delicious despite the lack of meat.

“You will be,” Cecil laughed, already looking better and pouring himself a second cup, adding something potent smelling to it from a flask from his pocket.

“You shouldn’t drink like that,” Carlos scolded mildly. “It’s no wonder you’re so hungover this morning.”

“You’ll drink like this too, when you’ve seen the things I have.” To prove his point, he took a generous gulp. “And I wasn’t hungover. Not from alcohol, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you after lunch,” he promised. “Now, tell me about how the rest of the party went after I left. How many men did Judy dance with this time?”

He conceded to tell him what he’d observed at the party as the night grew later and the drink flowed more freely, laughing at the quirky man’s childish glee for gossip. Despite his lack of proper dress, he was surprisingly learned about fashion. And, even as the town pariah, he knew all about the town, the people, their interactions. The sandwiches were soon gone, the tea as well, and Cecil finally stood and dusted his hands on his pants.

“Now, I’ll show you to the library and see how well you can handle the truth,” he said, leading the way through the labyrinth of the estate.

 


	3. Skeptic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos doesn't take Cecil's revelation well.   
> (I may get a bit wordy here- I wrote and re-wrote this part a million times. If you have any questions, please please PLEASE ask in a comment. There's just a lot of weird information all at once, I swear it's necessary and we're getting it out of the way so we can have some plot. And maybe smut. Eventually.)

“Now, I’ll show you to the library and see how well you can handle the truth,” he said, leading the way through the labyrinth of the estate.

They eventually came to a massive set of oak doors that Cecil opened easily, swinging on silent, well balanced hinges. Carlos was disturbed to note the inside of the doors was spotted with what appeared to be large black marks.

"Are those... are those  _scorches_?" Carlos asked.

“Of course," Cecil replied, as if what looked like some sort of explosion happening in a library was perfectly normal. It was a massive, old library, with a high ceiling and ladders along the shelves to reach ones high above. Some of the shelves had chains over them, binding the books in. "Come over here. Observe, dear scientist,” Cecil said teasingly, going to the center of the room and pulling back a large rug with a flourish.

Beneath the rug was a rusty colored pentagram, with another enormous burn mark in the center.

“What… what is this? More witchcraft?” he asked hesitantly, walking forward. He crouched and touched one of the lines of the pentagram, and frowned. It was painted with blood. The pentagram itself was complex and almost artistic- the classic star within a circle, but further decorated with runes in a tongue Carlos didn’t recognize. When he studied them further, his vision became spotty and blackness blossomed behind his eyes, alarming him and making him look away. The effects were gone the moment he averted his gaze.

“Not quite. This is my own work. This is why I was so tired this morning.”

“So.. what… are you a witch too?”

“No. I’m a Lilithian.”

“What is a Lilithian?” Carlos asked after a pause, wondering if he was going to like the answer. Probably not.

“A descendant of Lilith.” When Carlos gave him a puzzled look, he sighed. “Jewish texts say that Lilith was the first wife of Adam. She was made at the same time as him, from the earth, rather than from him. But she left him and bedded with an archangel. Biblical hints say she is not a woman but a creature, one of the eight unclean beasts. Still more texts say she is a demon, or a goddess, or a bird woman. Honestly, I have no idea who or what Lilith was or is. I do know, however, that it means I have an extreme amount of responsibility on my shoulders, being a Lilithian.”

“What responsibility?” Carlos pressed.

“The title of a Lilithian means I am a bridge. Or, rather, a barrier. My job is to protect Night Vale from descending into complete and utter madness. Which sounds simple enough,” though Carlos didn’t think it sounded that simple at all, “but is not. It means I have to do my best to keep the otherworldly and ofwoldly from discovering each other and destroying each other. They’re very keen on that.”

"What makes you a Lilithian? Who says you have to do this?"

"Partly my blood. My family. My mother was one. Or was supposed to be one- she left when I was very young. And partly... well, I just knew at a young age that this was what I was doing with my life. It was an intrinsic part of me. I just... knew."

“Can you define ‘otherworldly’ and ‘ofworldly’ for me?” Carlos asked, deciding he’d had enough with being baffled and this whole situation would best be handled from a scientific viewpoint.

"Ofworldly is the world that you're used to, ruled by science and logic, with order to it. Everything you know is ofworldly. Everything that I've said that's shocked you is otherworldly. There are a hundred thousand theories about where the otherworld is, if its as natural to this planet as you are, or if its from space or underground or other dimensions. Most folks believe that elsethings- the creatures from the otherworld- they come from Hell, though I don't share that ideal. Because, you know. I'm somewhat otherworldly," he said shiftily.

"You aren't human?" Carlos asked with interest, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I'm human. But I'm also elsething. It’s… Being half elsething doesn't mean you have to be Lilithian, and being Lilithian doesn't mean you have to be half elsething. Though I’ve heard that’s a very hard life- being a Lilithian without having the advantage of being something otherworldly. That's probably why my mother left, she was fully human. I choose to use my mixed heritage to keep the otherworld and ofwordly separate, so that makes me Lilithian. Not my blood.”

"What do you mean, 'elsethng'?"

"You have no sense of privacy, do you?" he sniffed.

"Oh, I apologize, I didn't realize it was private," Carlos said quickly.

"Its fine, a common thing to overlook. Its not actually that private- I’ve just only really showed two or three people. I would show you, but I'm rather tired from last night. Shoving an elsething back elsewhere is always exhausting, especially with five or six drinks in my system," he said cheerfully.

"That does sound tiring, yes," Carlos said politely, struggling to keep up. "How does that process work, exactly?"

"I can do it without a pentagram, but its made much easier with one- the pentagram is a safety measure. It keeps things in, so the pissed off elsething from last night, for example, couldn’t get out and rip my throat out. Many people just paint pentagrams, but I find it better if I use my own blood, it holds power better than paint."

"This is _your_ blood?"

"Of course. Where else would I find a willing donor?"

"Couldn't you use pig blood or something?"

"Well, I don't speak pig, so I couldn't ask permission, and then it would hardly be willing," he said as if it was obvious. "Anyways, I just roll up my sleeves and call on my own elsething half and give it a shove. I exert my will a little, too."

".. Just like that?"

"Just like that. But its difficult, it requires finesse and talent and I would never do it without being at least half elsething myself. And its draining, like running a marathon. And many otherworldly things fight back. Its easier to show you- next time I've got a job, I'll send for you so you can see it."

"That's... I look forward to it."

"I must say, your interest in these matters is refreshing. Usually I get disgust. Tolerance at best. I'm enjoying your questions."

"So- just to make sure I have everything straight in my mind- you're half elsething. Which makes it easier to be a Lilithian, which means you sort things out between ofwordly things and otherworldly things. And elsethings are otherworldly, which is the opposite of ofworldly, and they want to destroy each other. Which is why you need to be around to make sure they don't."

"I think that's the sum of it, yes."

"Excuse my language, but this sounds like the maddest pile of horse shit I've ever heard."

Cecil barked out a short, cold laugh. "I'll forgive your language, Dr. Carlos, but keep in mind that's my entire livelihood you're calling shit."

"I hope you understand how utterly insane this all seems. I feel as though I've walked into a crazy, logicless dream. I believe I could awake any moment and have a good laugh at the peculiarity of it all and tell myself to never eat marmalade toast right before bed again."

Cecil's eyes lowered for a moment, and when he looked back up, his violet eyes were hard. "I know Dana's sandwiches are surreal in their deliciousness, but I assure you this is real. Perhaps you should return home and settle yourself, and I'll call for you when I can prove to you that this is real."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I just meant that... Well, this is all a little difficult to believe. You must understand."

"I _must_ do nothing, Dr. Carlos. Thank you for visiting me this afternoon. Dana will meet you at the front door with the carriage and drive you home. You can expect my call in a few days time. Khoshekh will show you out."

And with that, he turned his back and walked deep into the library and was gone.

 


	4. Undignified

Carlos blinked, feeling regretful. Cecil was obviously a bit sensitive about his work. He suddenly realized what a lonesome life he lived- alone in this strange, ancient estate with a girl who may or may not be a witch. The town obviously didn't like him. He did look completely worn down in the morning, and it sounded as though he'd had an extremely strange childhood. And here he'd extended an open invitation to his home, and Carlos had called his manner of living absurd. In his own home!

He turned, silently chiding himself, and realized he didn't know who Khoshekh was. There was nobody at the door.

A loud yowl drew his attention to his feet, and was met with a rather plump, long haired, gray tomcat. Some sort of coon- a Maine coon?

It meow loud and demanding again, standing and walking a few feet into the corridor before hesitating, looking over its shoulder at Carlos. Like it was waiting for him.

Oh. Ooh. 'Familiars.' Right. Feeling a bit silly and already regretting his doubt about how Cecil lived, he followed the cat. Sure enough, it led him to the front door.

"Um. Thank you," he said uncertainly. Before he could do anything else stupid, he went out the door.

Dana silently opened the door to the carriage for him. By this point, he was unsurprised to note that the carriage was midnight blue with goldenrod yellow seats and silver thread lining the windows. The spokes of the wheels were grass green, and the two white horses harnesses were also lined with silver.

"Miss Dana," he started, but she shook her head and cut him of.

"Dana, please, not Miss Dana. I'm not too pleased that Cecil told you about my practice- I love him like a brother and owe him my life, multiple times- but it wasn't really his secret to tell. And I won't answer any questions about it unless you make up for hurting his feelings so. He's a sensitive fellow and was so excited that you were friendly to him- he doesn't have many friends. You were all he talked about when he got home last night," she said briskly. "I'm surprised he's giving you a second chance- you must be something special. Just don't botch up again. Cecil is a good person to have as a friend, he might seem odd, sure, but he's got a lot of real specialness to him, trust you me "

Carlos took a moment to absorb her words and nodded. Though her blunt manner and use of Christian names was a bit shocking, what she said made sense. And she spoke with complete certainty.

"Thank you, Dana. I assure you, I already feel immensely guilty for treating his life work with such levity, and aim to make up for it," he said honestly.

"Good. Just be careful, he's very free with his heart," she said, and Carlos nodded, though he wasn't quite sure what she meant, and climbed into the carriage. She drove to his inn without asking where he was living, and again opened the door for him, and was back up and driving away before he could even thank her.

He immediately went up to his rooms and wrote down everything he’d learned. He had a photographic memory, but that didn’t mean he recalled conversations so perfectly, so he took down notes.

_Two places of existence. Ofworldly- everything normal, my place of existence. Order, laws, science. Otherworldly- abnormal, strange, chaotic, magic. Creatures from the otherworld are called elsethings._

_Cecil Palmer- half elsething. Claims to be a ‘Lilithian’ (research Lilith?) which means he works to keep the ofworld and otherworld separate. Being half elsething not equal to Lilithian, and Lilithian not equal to half elsething. But being half elsething somehow helps him be a more successful Lilithian._

_Lilithian= using pentagrams (in blood?) to trap elsethings, then uses his elsething half (?) to push them back to the otherworld._

He then began pouring through his books, most still in the boxes he'd moved them in, for anything to do with magic, the occult, religious beliefs, and anything that could be even moderately considered otherworldly. The results were disappointing. He had the Bible, a small palm reading tome he'd received from a friend, a book about the discovery of America, though it detailed the spread of disease mostly and barely touched on the tribes practices, a copy of Milton's Paradise Lost, and Dante's Inferno. The Bible and the latter two were from his mother, who continually switched from being proud and concerned in regards to his scientific pursuits. (She bragged that her son was a genius but was worried that science was atheistic and corrupting.)

It didn't look promising.

He started with Paradise Lost, but soon got distracted with the ideas of creatures having systems that could survive in a high sulfur environment. He found his way back and then decided that a human shaped thing with wings would have am interesting skeletal and muscular design and began sketching how that could be possible. Suddenly it was late evening and he realized he'd forgotten to eat again. So he convinced the cook to make him a cold plate, ate, and went to bed.

The next morning when he woke, he spent a good three minutes glaring at the books for not having any answers. He went over his notes again. There was painfully little information, most of it just led to more questions rather than giving answers. Rather than spend the day mulling over it, he decided to walk away from it and approach it later with a fresh mind. He had other science he could look at. And a few other people he’d befriended in the town. Yes, he could keep himself occupied until Cecil called upon him again. It surely wouldn’t be too long. And then he could have answers.

It was two days later that he received the summons to the Palmer Estate.

He was returning from a night of cards with Mr. Carlsberg, Mr. Telly, and Mr. Williams, and was a bit drunk. He was walking back to the inn- it was a nice night and it wasn't too far. He smiled up at the sky as he walked- mostly void, partially stars- and when he lowered his eyes, a familiar absurdly colored carriage had stopped beside him.

"Dana! Hullo!" he greeted cheerfully.

"Dr. Carlos. You look as though you're having a, um, ‘jovial’ night. I hate to intercede, but a more serious matter has arisen. Cecil has something he would like to show you."

"Cecil! Yes, that wasp-waisted devil sure took his time. I was worried I was going to have to send him flowers for an apology," he said. He laughed for no reason other than that he was alive and laughing felt nice.

"Um. Yes. Well, if you'd please step in, I'll take us there and you can worry no longer," she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He beamed and climbed into the carriage with a bit of a struggle- it took him three tries to grasp the handle by the door.

The ride was a blur- suddenly they were there. Dana opened the enormous doors and led him through the dark halls to the library. She looked at him thoughtfully- he continued to grin- and then smiled, opening the doors and allowing him in before following herself.

"Cecil! The man himself! Cecil, you had me worried and confused like an adolescent, I was afraid you'd decided not to give me a second chance, and I've been afire with curiosity," he declared grandly, placing his feet as steadily as he could but still feeling as though he was balancing on a tightrope.

Cecil turned- he had a massive, ancient looking tome open in his hands. He regarded him for a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly, snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm.

"Dana, what did you do to him?" he sighed, striding over to the scientist. He got closer and furrowed his brow, then leaned in close to Carlos's face. Carlos's eyes widened at the proximity, but Cecil merely sniffed delicately."You've been drinking?" he accused.

"Well, someone didn't tell me they'd be kidnapping me to prove that otherworldly things exist," Carlos huffed, rolling his eyes. Cecil sniffed again and scowled.

"Who on earth were you drinking with? That's a poor excuse for whiskey you've got on your breath. Honestly, if you want to drink some real scotch or bourbon, call on me- you don't need to drink swill like this."

"It was at Mr. Carlsberg's. With Mr. Telly and Mr. Williams," he said helpfully.

If possible, Cecil's expression grew even darker. The humming in the air and twitching of the shadows in the room were probably just from being drunk.

"You were drinking with _Steve Carlsberg_?!?" he growled.

"If it makes it any better, I thoroughly trounced him at cards," he added, then tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I seen to have a habit of being a terrible guest. My mother would snatch me bald headed for all the havoc I've caused."

At that, Cecil laughed, the shadows ceased writhing, the air silenced, and the flames in the hearth and on the candles around the pentagram jumped higher.

"Why didn't you sober him before your brought him up?" Cecil asked Dana. She smiled demurely and shrugged.

"I thought you'd enjoy seeing him like this. You should hear what he said about you when I picked him up- something about a wasp?"

"Wasp-waisted devil," Carlos repeated, savoring the phrase proudly. "Wasp-waisted Cecil. Cecil the magician. Perfect smoke ring Cecil."

At that, Cecil's lips curled in a delighted little smile. "Dana, have I told you that you're a genius?"

"Many times, but I appreciate it each time," she laughed.

"Cecil the freckled king in his big ol' castle! I like how your name moves across my tongue. It’s very sibilant. _Cecil_ ," Carlos said happily, dragging the word out appreciatively.

Cecil took the complement strangely, blushing bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. "Yes, well, I'll need him sober for this."

“Your carriage is very strangely colored. And your clothes, too,” Carlos told him, feeling like he should be told. His carriage was odd. And he did dress a bit strangely- always lacking one thing or another, last visit he was only wearing a shirt and trousers, at the party he had no jacket. Now, he was in just shirt and trousers again. Horizontally striped trousers weren’t uncommon. But these were black with tan stripes and thinner red strips. Again, he was barefoot. At least his shirt was fairly normal- a color somewhere between apple red and burgundy.

“Dana, if you would?” Cecil asked her politely. She sighed wistfully and approached him, rubbing her hands together. Carlos noted there seemed to be sparks coming from between her hands- like rubbing two charged plates together to generate electricity.

“You’re both just going to get drunk again after this, you know,” she said matter-of-factly, over the increasingly loud crackling of her hands. Before Carlos could react, she put one hand on his sternum and one about where his liver was. There was a moment of sensation- he felt fluid and rushing, like a fast moving river- and then nothing. He felt stone sober. She removed her hands, a few trace sparks jumping from her hands to his skin from the points of contact, and patted his elbow. “All better. Have fun, I’ll bring up some of the strong stuff and leave it in the kitchen before I go.”

Carlos was left staring as she departed, shutting the doors behind her, and turned slowly to Cecil, feeling an increasing sense of mortification.

“I. Ahm. I apologize, the alcohol seemed to have loosened my tongue. Please don’t take seriously anything I said,” he stammered, trying to regain some of his dignity.

“Don’t worry, the entire event has been perfectly preserved in my memory for all time,” Cecil replied cheerfully, taking the book out from under his arm and setting it on a low side table.

Carlos rubbed the bridge of his nose, groaning lightly. He wasn’t sober two minutes and he already half wished he was drunk again. “I really am sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I enjoyed it,” Cecil said lightly, giving him a small smile full of meaning Carlos couldn’t translate. “Now. If you’re going to watch this, then you need to know some rules.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to really enjoy Carlos and Cecil getting drunk. Sorry about Carlos being drunk so often- Cecil's alcoholism is rubbing off on him apparently.


	5. Hooks and Barbs and Tendrils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too keyed up from Ep. 38 to sleep, and it's a new year, so I'm updating all my fics. Happy 2014!

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I enjoyed it,” Cecil said lightly, giving him a small smile full of meaning Carlos couldn’t translate. “Now. If you’re going to watch this, then you need to know some rules.”

“That sounds acceptable,” he replied, grateful that they’d moved on to a different subject.

“I think so. And most rules- well, all rules- are for your own safety. Firstly- do not, under any circumstances, touch the edge of the circle. Do not enter the circle. It might be best if you stayed a few feet away from the edge of it, even. The consequences would be unthinkable,” he said grimly, more serious than Carlos had ever seen him. He nodded fervently. “Secondly, do not leave the library. If you feel ill or dazed or need a moment, feel free to walk elsewhere in the library- it extends for some distance- but don’t open the doors. Or the windows. Third, don’t touch me. No matter what happens. I want you to repeat this last one- you will not touch me, no matter what. Any part of me.”

“I- I won’t touch you, no matter what,” Carlos repeated, slightly bemused. Cecil nodded firmly.

“Good. And the last rule is just because this is your first time and it’s dangerous without experience and a complete understanding. You should not talk while there is something in the circle. Before and after, ask whatever questions you would like. But while the circle is inhabited, do not speak. Now, repeat the rules back to me, please.”

“Don’t touch or enter the circle. Don’t leave the library or open windows or doors. Don’t touch you, no matter what. Don’t speak,” he listed with a calmness he didn’t feel.

“Good.”

“Are we… are you summoning an incubus?” Carlos asked hesitantly.

“An incubus? Dear void, no. Why would I do that? Or do you mean a demon?”

“What’s the difference?” Carlos asked, regretting his lack of knowledge about this area. He craved research, and looked hungrily at the book on the table.

“Well… an incubus is a specific type of ‘demon’, one of the many races. And a demon is- well, we’re not summoning demons. They’re often mistaken as demons, but they’re elsethings. Not creatures of hell, though they may seem relatively hellish sometimes,” Cecil said. “‘Demon’ is just the word people use for them in ignorance of the otherworld. And an incubus is a specific type of elsething. It’s… well, it’s a… a sex creature,” he said quickly, blushing. “Incubi and succubi- male and female sex creatures, respectively. But no, not… we aren’t summoning one of those.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m afraid I have little knowledge on these things,” Carlos said quickly, blushing as well.

"You’ll learn. Now one more thing... I know this will settle our 'dispute' over what is real and what is not. But I am a bit worried that... Well, you might fear... Hm. I just wish you to remember that I am the same person. Right now, this is me. Okay? There's no reason to fear me, or be disgusted, or anything like that. Its... Just... Oh never mind, I'm just anxious I suppose. Nothing to do but get it over with!" he said, sounding rather forcibly cheerful.

He immediately began pulling his shirt over his head, which Carlos thought was a bit strange, but perhaps it was required for such magical practices. What did he know? Nothing. It could be a filthy, messy process, or it could be-

"Oh," he said, suddenly understanding why he'd seen him vestless and jacketless and barefoot, but never with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Cecil's entire upper body was covered with tattoos.

Or maybe it was a single, giant tattoo that embraced his arms and torso. Carlos couldn't decide what type of pattern it was, or if it even had design. Stark, inky black against Cecil's pale skin, an undulating, ribboned, dizzying mess of tendrils, thin ones and thick ones, occasionally bifurcating or wrapping around each other, some stouter, pointed ones creeping up his neck, thin ones twisting like wire around his wrists, thick at his spine, completely covering it. It was all barbs and tendrils and hooks and pointed tips, spanning from his neck to his wrists to the beginnings of his iliac crest on his lower back. When he turned, Carlos saw it continued only a little on his front, stopping just below his clavicle.

“That’s… one hell of a tattoo.” Okay, he’d meant to say something else, surely, something more observant or ask a question or something, but that’s what found its way out of his mouth. Embarassing. He tried again. “Is it… I’ve never seen one like this. So extensive and dark and perfect. How did you get it done?” He’d seen tattoos before- some of his mother’s side of the family had tattoos, and the sailors on the ships back and forth from England to America often had been inked. But those were a dark blue color, somewhat faded, indistinct. This was black as void, detailed and sharp and clear. It was a whole other level of tattoo.

“I was born with it.”

“ _What_?”

“It’s the visible, dormant manifestation of my elsething half. When I was young, it was just on my spine. Just a single black stripe, really, that was all. But as I accessed my elsething half more, it… grew. At first I thought, neat! But now I have to walk a fine line. I have a lot of work that constantly needs to be done, but if I do too much at once, then I can't hide the tattoo anymore. The more I use it, the more it spreads. If I take a few days break, then it recedes. And I prefer to take breaks anyways- it exhausts me like you wouldn't believe. What I'm doing today is just a simple summoning and dispelling, I need to ask an elsething about what's going on in the otherworld. A hot air balloon incident occurred this afternoon, and I need to know if any elsethings had anything to do with it."

"A hot air balloon incident? What exactly does that mean?"

"You didn't hear? A hot air balloon vanished from the field and reappeared briefly in the middle of rugby practice, before vanishing again," Cecil explained casually.

"And you think it was an otherworldly related event?"

"Of course. Tonight's summoning is to figure out who was involved."

“Right. Well. Go ahead, I’ll have a thousand questions after, for sure, but now I’d like to see exactly how this all works,” he said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. He was beginning to get excited- this was it, this was what he needed to sate the curiosity that had been gnawing at him for days.

“Alright. Just don’t scream,” Cecil warned, wearing half a nervous smile. Carlos wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Cecil looked like _he_ didn’t even know if he was joking or not.

Cecil turned back to the pentacle and shook out his hands, hopping on the balls of his feet a few times like a runner getting ready for a race. Then he ceased all movement save for the movement of his shoulders as he took two deep breaths. Then even that ceased as he began speaking, his deep, creamy voice dropping into a low, confident tone.

The tongue he spoke was alien on Carlos’s ears, so strange that it almost felt itchy, so bad that he had to resist the urge to scratch them. Behind his eyes, he felt sparks and fizzing, a strange but not quite unpleasant sensation, and the entire room seemed to take on a sharp contrast. Lights seemed brighter, shadows seemed darker. Cecil’s voice was growing slower and lower, taking on a molasses like tone- sharp and bitter and sludgy.

He stopped speaking, to Carlos’s ear’s relief, but the room still looked too bright and dark all at once. Something else had changed, too, so suddenly that he hadn’t seen the actual transition from normal to… whatever it was that was hovering a few feet in the air above the pentagram.

It was some sort of distortion in the air where light and color didn’t seem to work the way it should. It was jagged and ripply, like warped glass, with rough edges, like a tear. The tear itself wasn’t visible, but the distortion of light and color around it showed its shape.

Cecil spoke three syllables in a clear voice, and then his tattoo _moved_.

 


	6. Inquisitive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite fic to write, I've gotta tell you guys. I have so much done that I haven't posted yet, I'm chapters and chapters ahead and I've got a million great ideas, I can't keep up with my own head.  
> Apologies if there are any errors in this chapter or the next, I wrote much of this section in the car on my phone during a 4 hour car ride.  
> Also, I may begin updating this faster, because I just realized the car trip I wrote this on was before Thanksgiving, and I have so so so much more to write.

Cecil spoke three syllables in a clear voice, and then his tattoo _moved_.

It peeled up from his skin in long strands of black, like tentacles, but with irregular lengths and girths, pointed needle-sharp at the tips, and much more than just eight. They remained attached at his spine and reached around his body, into the circle, and then stopped at the tear. No, they didn’t stop- they kept going. _Into_ the tear. He gritted his teeth and his shoulders rolled lightly as the tentacle-tendrils moved.

Feeling around in the otherworld. Looking for something. Someone.

His tentacle-tendrils returned, bringing something with them. It was the last thing Carlos had expected. He didn’t know what exactly he did expect to come out of a rip in space and light in a blood-painted pentacle, retrieved by a sentient three-dimensional growing living tattoo, but it wasn’t this.

It was... a... garden gnome?

Ruddy cheeks half hidden with a wild beard, plump lips curled up in a childish smile, a round red nose, and a tall pointed hat. The thing was a foot tall and looked absolutely foolish and as un-demonic as Carlos could have ever imagined. Cecil's tentacles were wrapped around its feet, hanging it upside down. The thing was laughing maniacally in a scratchy, high pitched voice.

"Cee-Cee!" the thing rasped delightfully. "What's happening, my man?"

"Gozale. I need information regarding the hot air balloon incident this afternoon," Cecil said coldly.

"You keep grilling me like this and think you can get away with not paying me, shits gonna come around," Gozale said grouchily.

"I prefer threats to bribes. You know that."

"Yeah, yeah, but jeez, we might all be a little more receptive if you would change your thinking," it said, rolling his eyes.

"Hot air balloon. The sooner you give me what I need, the sooner I can shove you back," Cecil sighed.

"Hey, I got a joke for ya," he said as he began picking his nose. "Where do you find a one legged dog?"

"Gozale-,"

"Wherever you left it!" he cackled.

Cecil spoke a sharp syllable and the air cracked for a moment, and Gozale yelped.

"Alright, alright!" His beard was slightly smoking. "All I know is some prick wanted to fuck up your town rugby team because he thought you'd kicked us around one too many times, and heard you like sports."

"Was that prick called Ruffth, perchance?" Cecil asked grimly.

"That's the one! Now, I told you all you wanted, send me back. This place is so neat and tidy, its giving me indigestion," Gozale said, and his beard curled as though with excitement.

"Fine. And, as usual, not a word about this," Cecil said sternly.

"Yeah, 'or else', I gotcha."

Cecil took another two deep breaths, and then pushed the gnome thing back through the tear. He moved more slowly as he got closer, until he was barely moving. Cecil appeared to be straining, leaving forward slightly, fists clenched, sweat beading on his brow, until finally he seemed to overcome whatever forces were opposing him and the gnome went back into the tear with an audible pop.

He pulled his tendrils from the rift, looking tired, and spoke the phrases in that language again, stitching the rip in the air. Carlos could see it press back together and purse like a mouth, and then it was gone.

Cecil staggered back two steps and slumped into a chair, his tendrils dragging around him exhaustedly.

"Done. You can start with the questions now. Or disturbed screaming, if that's what you feel you need," Cecil said wryly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Are they all like that?" was the first question that made it from Carlos's brain to his mouth. It wasn't a very good question, but it was a start, and it drew an amused laugh from Cecil.

"No. The otherworld doesn't have defined form and shape like we have here. He said the order here was making him ill- the otherworld is complete chaos. Solidity and structure is unheard of there. You’ll notice my otherworldly manifestation is somewhat fluid- most elsethings are like that. But when they come here, they have to show a little respect to our laws and hence are forced to choose a form. As you probably noticed, Gozale has a strange sense of humor. That's the form he takes here. When I call forth Ruffth tomorrow night, you'll see the variation. That is, if you're interested in attending," he added, suddenly bashful, the tips of his tendrils curling in a shy manner.

"Of course I'm interested!" Carlos snorted- how could he not be? This was so much bigger than studying the composition of cacti flesh or the nephrons of desert rats. "I wouldn't miss it for the world!" Cecil blushed bright red, so he decided he should change the subject. "So what is the exact process? How does everything come together, how do they all work- your tendrils, the pentagram, the words you were saying, the rift- to reach the otherworld? And where exactly is the otherworld, is it in space or in a parallel universe or an alternate dimension, or what?"

Cecil laughed weakly. "You're so smart, Carlos, I've never even thought about half of those things. I'm sorry to say I don't have the answers you're looking for. Honestly, I've never really wondered at it. I just know that the pentagram is necessary- it keeps elsethings in and helps hold and restrain them.. The rift can only be made those words- I'm not sure why, but that's how it is- and those words are from an ancient book, handed down from Lilithian to Lilithian. I don't know who gave me my copy. It was before my earliest memory.

"Technically, I could pull something through without my tendrils- anyone could do this, with the right words and pentagram- but my tendrils make it easier. Without them, I'd have to add a few lines to address the specific elsething I wanted to grab, and I would have to use pure willpower to pull it through. Which is dangerous- if whatever I'm pulling is more willful than I, it could reverse it and pull me through instead. So, though using my elsething half tires me out, its much safer and easier than doing without.

"I have no idea where the otherworld is. I think its more likely to be a different dimension, lying in line with ours. Its so drastically different over there that I can't imagine we share a universe," he said with a shrug.

"How do you know do much about the otherworld? Have you been there?"

Cecil's expression darkened. "Once. No, you can't go. It's not an event that should ever be repeated. I still wonder at the repercussions from that journey. It was a foolish and hotheaded venture that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy," he said with a shudder. "I learned much. And it was enjoyable, at first. Before I realized how dire a situation it was. The price was not worth it."

That just gave Carlos more questions, but he refrained from voicing them. "Well, there goes that idea, then," he said kiddingly. "Come, let's go see what drinks Dana left out for us and I'll make you something to eat. You look fairly unwell. I can continue asking questions while you eat."

"Good idea. And I can cook for myself, you don't have to," Cecil protested weakly, regaining his feet with a faint groan. His manifested tattoo-tendrils lifted behind him, some of them just hanging in the air almost like wings radiating from his shoulderblades, a few looping around his arms and waist.

"I’m impressed a man of your class knows how to cook, but you look half dead. I promise I won't make you one of my mother's Indian dishes. You'll have to lead the way, though, I fear I'll lose us in this castle-house."

"Alright. This way," he said, stopping to retrieve his shirt before heading out the doors. When they got to the kitchen, he threw himself down in a chair beside the fireplace. His tendrils went to work collecting wood from the basket and getting the tinderbox, and in a few moments a merry fire was growing in the hearth. He sat close to the flames, despite the sweat shining on his bare chest.

Carlos put the pot on first, and Cecil directed him to the cupboard with coffee in it- because he wanted something stronger than tea and he felt a hearty mug of Irish coffee was called for.

Carlos stuck with a simple late night meal, toasted bread with cheese and ham, and watched as Cecil added a copious amount of cream and brandy to his coffee.

"What was that electricity you brought down on Gozale?" he asked curiously, adding a bit of brandy to his own mug.

"One of the seven levels of punishment. That was a mild second level shock. The words put form to your will- again, I'm not sure how- and, if used properly, they can punish whatever elsething you've summoned. It takes practice, and you have to really mean it- I mean, you have to feel angry or justified in causing the pain, you can’t just do it absentmindedly or half-heartedly. Gozale is fairly harmless, if a bit revolting. I doubt I could summon the intention to harm him more than a second level anyway. I'm sure you'll see worse tomorrow when I call Ruffth. Gozale is right about one thing- he's an awful prick, and I've got to make an example of him. I can't have elsethings attacking Night Vale because they want to get back at me," he said firmly. "Night Vale is under my protection."

"You are very devoted to this place, and the people don't even like you," Carlos observed.

"I know," he sighed, stretching his legs out. “But part of being a Lilithian means not telling people. Few know what I really do- Old Woman Jose. Steve knows a little, he thinks I’m satanic and barbaric. Asshole. I mean, I can tell a few people. Like you, or Dana, but she’s already sort of part of that world. But I can’t tell the world. I couldn’t publicly publish it or anything.”

“Will you kill Ruffth?” Carlos asked hesitantly.

“No. The seventh level of punishment is death, so I could. I mean, theoretically. I’ve never killed anything. The highest level I’ve done is a powerful level five, nearly a six. That was right after I came back from the otherworld.”

“Oh. Why?”

"That’s… another time. But here's something that may interest you. Watch."

His tendrils curled and began wrapping around him. As Carlos watched, they flattened and became two dimensional one again. And he noticed, yes, the tattoo was larger now- it went down to the top of his pectorals rather than just below his clavicle.

"Extraordinary," Carlos breathed, standing and walking closer. He extended a hand, then hesitated. "May I?" Cecil took a large gulp from his mug and nodded, so he reached out and carefully touched his shoulder, feeling the tattoo for edges. It was completely flat in his skin, like an actual tattoo, but it was much warmer than his pale skin, oddly enough. He ran his hand from white, untattooed, human skin to the black once-tendrils and could tell exactly when his hand encountered the tattoo from the sudden temperature change.

Cecil was watching him with his wide purple eyes, so he removed his hand.

"Next time, I'd like to observe them while they're manifested," he requested.

"Sure," Cecil said hoarsely. He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed for some unknown reason, and took another drink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for Gozale goes to my sister- I was sitting there, going "what's the least expected form for a demonic otherworldly being to take?" and my sister replied with "a garden gnome" and it fit the personality I wanted for him, so she gets credit for that.


	7. Deviant

“So- who is Ruffth?” Carlos asked, taking the other chair by the fire as Cecil pulled his shirt back on.

“He’s not a major being, like some I could name, but he’s not small game like Gozale. You think I look tired now? You’ll see what it’s really like after I pull Ruffth through. And he’ll be very unwilling to come. I probably look terribly weak, but really, it’s twice the work when I have to pull them through _and_ put them back. It’s much more impressive when I’m saving the town by shoving elsethings back where they came from, I promise,” he laughed. A single tendril peeled off his forearm and reached over to retrieve the brandy. Carlos politely refused a refill- he’d already been drunk once tonight.

Cecil told him stories about other times he’d saved the town, his tales becoming more extravagant, his gestures more flamboyant, his voice louder. Somehow, he ended up sitting at Carlos’s feet, leaning back against his shins and dropping his title of Dr, calling him simply Carlos.

“So the tower shape in Grove Park has been there for a _week and a half_ and I had no idea, nobody was talking about it, they’re _so_ adverse to magic! It was a whole eleven days before I made the elsethings- I think it was Honch and Trawun, beefy brainless fools- put it back where it belonged. All four of us- Trawun has two heads- had a good laugh before they went, though. That everyone was so determined to ignore magic that I had no idea,” Cecil cackled. Carlos chuckled along. He was suddenly aware that he’d been absentmindedly stroking Cecil’s hair and withdrew.

“Why’d you stop?” the man immediately complained, turning to pout at him.

“I, uh,” he said, but it was a good question, so he resumed carding his hands through Cecil’s hair, and he leaned into his palm. “Are you purring?”

“Maybe,” Cecil said defensively. “It’s more of a happy growling.”

“I can’t believe you’re purring,” Carlos snorted, half his mind fluidly wondering at the physiology of his vocal cords before sluggishly abandoning the study. He was exhausted.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Cecil murmured, suddenly serious. He turned his head and nuzzled his nose into the crease of Carlos’s knee. It felt nice, so he didn’t see any reason to tell him to stop.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” seemed a more reasonable reaction.

“Cause… cause I’m not… normal,” Cecil slurred, struggling to find the right words. “When I first saw you… I wanted you to be my friend _so bad_. And now here you are. It’s… perfect,” he sighed. He twisted around to look Carlos in the eyes for a moment, looking very serious. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect!” Carlos laughed.

“Yes you are. With your perfect hair and teeth like military gravestones and strong jaw.”

“And dark skin,” he pointed out, stretching his arms above his head tiredly and yawning. “I appreciate the compliments. But perfect is a bit of a reach, don’t you think?”

“No,” Cecil huffed. “You’re perfect.”

“Well, I should get this perfect self back to my rooms at the inn-,”

“No!”

“-Or not. Why ‘no’?”

“Dana has gone to bed and I so hate to wake her. And previous experience says that driving in such a state is a poor choice,” he said, giggling at some old memory. “Trust me. Poor, poor, _poor_ decisions. I’m not making you walk home.”

“What else do you propose?” Carlos said, exasperated.

“Stay in one of the guest rooms. There’s a preposterous amount of room in this awful castle, it would do good to stay here. I can even lend you some bedclothes, if you’d like,” he suggested.

Carlos thought about it for a moment. There was an important question he wanted to ask. But he wasn’t sure how to say it tactfully.

“Are you a sexual deviant?” is what came out, which was not tactful in any sense of the word at all. He cringed slightly, but he figured it was important to know before he slept in his place.

“I…” Cecil trailed off, eyes wide, mouth moving a bit like a fish. “Um.” He looked away, getting up and throwing himself into the other chair, pulling his knees up like a frightened child.

“Oh God, no, don’t cry Cecil, I’m sorry! I should’ve worded it better. I really don’t care, I just wanted to know,” Carlos cried, standing up uselessly. “Really. It’s not important. I just thought… I was getting this sense.”

“No, I’m sorry. Yes, I’m… My interest is in my own gender. Is it so obvious?” he stammered, wiping at his eyes.

“Not really. It’s just, well… the way you dress. And socialize with Dana. And your gestures, or body language, or something- I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t mind, it doesn’t bother me. I mean,” he added hastily. “I’m not… that way… but I don’t mind that you are. Whatever suits you, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

Cecil laughed weakly. “Thank you! I appreciate that mindframe, most don’t understand and are disgusted. It has nothing to do with anyone else, so why does everyone get so upset?” he huffed. “And, anyways, I wasn’t asking you to share a bed, or even a room. Just a house. You don’t even have to stay in a room near mine. Not that you’re unattractive- you are! I mean, I wouldn’t be interested- because you’re not interested, not because of anything like- I mean…” he stopped and sighed. “You’re very handsome. Sorry.”

Carlos had no idea how to respond. There was no precedent for this. “Um. Thank you…?” he said, phrased like a question. He could feel himself blushing and tried to cover it by taking a drink, but then made it more uncomfortable when he realized his mug was empty. “Alright. I’ll take the room next to yours so I don’t get lost.”

Cecil perked up immediately, his face nearly splitting with his wide grin. His was such a simple joy over such a small thing that Carlos couldn't help but return the smile. "Excellent, sir! If you'd follow me, I'll show you to your quarters" he said in an amusing cockney accent, fairly well done for one so drunk. He stood, and that didn't go quite as well as the accent thing, but he did make it so it wasn't a complete failure.

They walked up too many flights of stairs for the actual size of the building, but it could have been just how tired Carlos was. This was the second time that night that he’d been drinking, and sure he wasn’t drunk that time, but his head was buzzing. The stone ‘house’ was pleasantly cool, a contrast to the hot desert he’d been trying to acclimate to, and the room that Cecil showed him to was large and looked comfortable enough. There was no dust, and there were thick sheets on the bed. Cecil had retrieved a clean pair of soft pants and shirt for him to sleep in from his own wardrobe in his room down the hall. The pants were normal enough, but the shirt was bright blue.

“If you need another blanket, come over and ask- its already cold,” Cecil said, gesturing to the room just down the hall. “Come down to breakfast any time. I always eat in the kitchen- I’m used to talking to Dana when I eat, and cooking with her sometimes.”

“Thank you again for allowing me to stay,” Carlos said gratefully, smiling awkwardly. “Well… goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Cecil said kindly. His eyes were glossy and he hesitated, swaying lightly on his toes for a moment, looking indecisive about something, before turning and going to his room.

Carlos closed the door of his room behind him and pulled off his clothes, choosing to wear only the pants, and tucked himself in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some silliness and reveals. More big stuff to come, I pinkie promise. I've had an epiphany about where I want to take this, but the writing doesn't seem to be flowing. I just started a new WTNV fic, my first angst fic I've ever published, for any fandom. And it's sucking me in like you wouldn't believe.


	8. Soap and Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a sucker for comments. ilu guys <3

He woke late, judging from the height of the sun out the window, feeling well rested and full of vigor. His shock over the otherworld and elsethings had faded, leaving a powerful scientific excitement. It didn't hurt that the bed was very soft, either- he'd slept much better than on the hard bed he had at the inn.

There was a bowl of clean, warm water on the bureau, and he decided not to question where it came from. He splashed some on his face to wake up and tried to smooth his hair by memory- he knew it was always a ballistic mess when he woke up, but there were no looking glasses anywhere. (He hadn’t actually seen a single reflective in the house , which wasn’t odd until he thought about it.) He pulled his shirt and trousers on from the previous day, frowning at the dust at the bottom of his trousers. The desert dirtied his clothes awfully fast.

When he opened the door, he couldn’t fail to notice the piece of paper attached to the wood of the door. Attached with the knife point jammed through it and into the outside of the door. He looked up and down the hall. It was empty.

Gingerly, he pulled the knife from the door and took the paper. It had simple directions on it. _Stairs, left, past the ugly dragon tapestry, right, down, left, down all the way to the bottom, third left._

He fumbled with the knife for a second, unsure what to do with it, and then awkwardly put it back in the door, taking two tries to get it to stay. Maybe he could use it to find the room again.

He followed the instructions and found himself in the kitchen. Cecil was sitting back-to, leaning in his hand, swirling a spoon around a steaming mug. He was wearing a pair of soft bed pants and a loose tunic, and his blonde hair looked very bed-tousled.

"I don't see why you always assume I'm 'up to something'," Cecil was saying.

"Because you are. Don't play stupid, I can see your aura getting all purple-red whenever- oh, good morning, Carlos!" she greeted, interrupting herself when she turned and saw him.

"Good morning. Or afternoon," he said, smiling and sitting at a barstool beside Cecil. His hair was even more of a mess in front- he had a rather aggressive cowlick.

"Your hair," they said simultaneously, then laughed.

"Yours is all sticking up in front," Carlos teased.

"Yours is flat on one side. It looks very bed-raggled."

"Its 'bedraggled'."

"Yes, but your hair is bed-raggled."

Carlos laughed and self consciously ran a hand over it, trying to smooth it down.

"I made breakfast," Dana said, putting a plate and mug in front of Carlos, "and I'm preparing a bath for each of you."

"You don't have to do that," Carlos said, tucking into his breakfast. "I bathe at the inn." _When I can convince the servants to heat some water_ , he thought grumpily. He used to love a good soak back home, but the inn was less than caring.

"Its no problem. Cecil likes bathing at least every other day. And its hardly a bother for me- my skills allow me to prepare everything with almost no effort," she said with a smile. "And we have more than one tub- Cecil enjoys buying things, and enjoys pampering. And Earl used to stay here often.” Carlos thought about it. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to be unclothed with a sexual deviant around- but he firmly put the thought from his mind. Cecil was nothing if not respectful, and he was determined not to be as judgemental as the rest of society. Heaven knew that Carlos had every reason to disagree with societal opinion.

“Well, if you’re already doing it, then I guess I can’t say no. Who is Earl?” he asked.

“And old friend. He was in the army. Went away overseas a few years ago, haven’t seen him in a long time,” Cecil said dismissively. “He was… he…” he trailed off, frowning, eyes slightly glazed, then shook his head. “Was an old friend. In the army. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Carlos blinked, furrowing his brow with confusion, but over Cecil’s shoulder, he saw Dana shaking her head at him. _Later_ , she mouthed as she left the room, and he swallowed his questions.

“I prefer bathing every day- many elsethings like to bring brimstone clouds with them, and I do loathe to walk around with blood and brimstone odors clinging to me. And I have sensitive skin- I sunburn and get dry patches easily,” he sniffed, sipping coffee from his mug.

“You _are_ the palest desert-dweller I’ve ever met,” Carlos observed. He was even paler than some of the women.

“I know,” he grumbled, and Carlos didn’t miss the envious (admiring?) glance at his dark forearms, and laughed.

“You’re still better off than I. I devoted years of my life to getting a degree that was kept from me, because of my coloring,” he said, raising a brow.

“Something I find abhorring and spineless.”

“That would make two of us, then.”

“Your baths are ready,” Dana said, sticking her head back in. “I set out towels and clothes for you too, Carlos.”

“How did you-?”

“I sent a few of my familiars over to the inn,” she explained.

“I don’t know why you stay there. You could stay here. I swear I wouldn’t charge you,” Cecil said with a smile. Carlos was uncertain if he was joking or not, so he laughed, but Cecil shook his head. “I’m serious. You could stay here.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you- This is your house, not an inn, and I can afford my own holdings.” _That is, if anyone will allow me the chance to purchase a place_.

“Nonsense. This place is massive and lonely and all too empty. There’s plenty of rooms for your science, and for you to investigate the otherworldly without having to find a cab every day. And if it makes you feel better, I’ve had people live here before,” he admitted.

“Well… I’ll consider it,” he promised, the best he could do. Cecil brightened.

“Great. I’ll show you to the bathing room,” he said, pushing his stool back and standing. He led him down the corridor and into the closest room. It was a very nice bathing room- tiled in pleasant dark blues with a few privacy screens around the room. There were a few racks on the walls, from which Cecil and Carlos’s clothing hung, and a neat stack of towels by each tub.

The tubs were large, pristine, and claw-footed, each full of fragrant smelling, frothy bathwater. Carlos was glad to note the bubbles were thick enough to preserve his modesty under the surface, and was further relieved when Cecil stepped behind a screen to change. He followed suit, stepping behind a different one to undress. He’d always been very insecure of his body, borne of having two sisters (no brothers, he always felt heavy and clumsy around their lithe forms) and the general societal opinion toward his race. And, having devoted much of his life to studying, he’d never been one of the boys to charge into the river for a swim, or exercise bare-chested outdoors.

“You can go first, and then you can tell me when you’re in,” Cecil called calmly. Carlos recalled Dana mentioning someone named Earl, and that Cecil probably had this proceeding down to a science. Carlos undressed and quickly crossed the room, easing himself in to the tub comfortably. The water was the perfect temperature, and whatever soaps and oils Dana had added made the water silky and delightful smelling. It was of perfect depth, as well- he settled into the bottom, and the water went barely a centimeter below his shoulders. If he leaned back, he could submerge himself. Perfect.

“All right, I’m in. I’ll close my eyes so you can get in,” Carlos said, closing his eyes and relaxing back against the tub. He heard the soft sound of Cecil’s bare feet on the tile, and the motion of water.

“All right,” Cecil said, and Carlos opened his eyes and smiled.

“I’m glad I didn’t decline. This is marvelous,” Carlos sighed.

“Mmm. Dana is excellent at this- of course, doing it every day makes it so she’s excellent. Today mine is,” he paused and breathed in through his nose, closing his eyes, and then opening them, “citrus and mint, I believe. What’s yours?”

Carlos blinked, before smelling his own bath. “Something sweet and nutty. Hazelnut, or almond, maybe? And a bit like… almost like molasses. It’s fantastic,” he admitted, taking another deep breath. “How does she do this?”

“I import a great number of soaps from all over Europe and Asia. It’s a weakness of mine, scents,” he laughed. “Both Dana and I have a wonderful time deciding what to order next.”

“You must spend a fortune.”

“I happen to have a fortune, or two or three,” he said easily, with a careless shrug. “Do you mind if I let my elderthing part manifest?”

“Of course not,” Carlos said, surprised that he even felt he needed to ask permission.

“Whew. Good,” he sighed, stretching his arms out in front of him. Carlos openly watched as his tattoos seemed to bulge and ripple free from his skin, gaining substance and peeling away. A few rested on the edge of the tub and some plunged happily into the bubbles. “True to their cephalopodic appearance, they love water. It’s hard to not manifest them when they get wet, I have to consciously make an effort to restrain them. I hate rainy days,” he explained.

“Really? Are they normally hard to restrain? Do they have a mind of their own?” Carlos asked, sinking into the water and putting his feet up on the edge and enjoying the freedom to do so. Being around Cecil was effortless and easy- the man was so careless for normal social ideas that things like bare elbows, using christian names, and putting one’s bare, soapy feet up on the side of a bathtub during a good soak seemed perfectly acceptable.

“Well, not normally. I mean, except when they’re wet- the tattoos, I mean- keeping them from manifesting doesn’t take any focus. When they are manifested, if I’m not actively manipulating and using them and just letting them relax, they do tend to do what they want. If I don’t impose my will, then I don’t mind letting them be free. Sometimes they do get confused, if I’m not committed to a decision- like if I really want another glass of wine, but know that I shouldn’t, then they would pick up the bottle and refill my glass, because I’ve got conflicting ideas.”

“No wonder you’re an alcoholic, I would be drunk nearly all the time if I had fantastically prehensile limbs that obeyed even my subconscious demands,” Carlos laughed.

Cecil snorted, taking a breath and dipping completely below the water for a moment before surfacing, rubbing soap into his hair. Carlos mimicked the motion, though he scrubbed at his thick hair underwater for a moment before going back up, to get it fully saturated. When he wiped the soap and water from his eyes, he saw Cecil staring at him with wide eyes.

“What?” he asked self-consciously, carding his hand through his wet hair nervously.

“Nothing,” Cecil said, mouth tilting up in a curious little half smile and turning back to his own bath, scooping up handfuls of the bubbles in a childlike happiness. “I just… like having people around. I hate this house. I mean, I don’t really hate it- I love it- but it’s so… vast. And empty. And dark.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?” Carlos asked.

“Isn’t everyone? I mean, I’m not _extremely_ afraid of the dark, but sometimes it gets to me. Once, I emptied our stock of candles trying to light the entire estate, but it can’t be done by one person. They were going out before I could finish. I just… with what I’ve seen… I crave light.”

“I’m sure what you’ve seen would make anyone crave light. I suppose that makes sense- most people’s fear of the dark isn’t based on anything. They can reassure themselves that monsters aren’t real. You know the opposite- so how could you not fear the unseen?” Carlos mused. Then he grimaced. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make assumptions, to analyze you.”

“I don’t mind. It actually makes me feel better that there’s some logic to my fear,” Cecil said good-naturedly.

Carlos thought about the gargantuan estate, and its yawning, empty halls, the cavernous ceilings and doorways, the dark stone and silent rooms, and shivered at the thought of living alone here for years and years.

 


	9. Science and Philosophy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I haven't updated recently. I just hit a super stubborn writer's block and have had zero motivation to write. Or post. Or do much of anything, actually. I don't know. Anyways.

After they'd dried and dressed, it didn't take much for Carlos to agree to move in. He did so loathe the inn, and Cecil was good company as well a piteously lonely. There were plenty of rooms to set up a lab, and if he was to study all things otherworldly, it would be ideal to have his base right at the thick of it. He accompanied Dana over to the in with the carriage to retrieve his things. For personal belongings, he had few- his wardrobe was so limited that Cecil looked like he was going to cry.

"I'm introducing you to my tailor," he threatened, scoffing at the small bag of clothes. However, he was fascinated with the rest of the things Carlos brought with him. While his personal belongings for in a single case, his lab materials had filled the carriage. Dana promised him that, under her will, nothing would break, and she kept her word- they arrived without cracking even the most delicate of his glassware.

"This doesn't look much like a piece of science " Cecil said critically, eyeing a long necked filtering flask with a crooked grin, holding it up to his mouth like some kind of long, elaborate musical instrument. "I smoked something that looked like this once." Perhaps not an instrument.

“One of the first rules of science is to not put foreign substances in your mouth,” Carlos gently chided. “I wash my equipment frequently, after every use, but you can never be too sure that there isn’t still acid or something harmful residing there.”

Cecil’s eyes widened slightly and he pulled the end from his mouth quickly. “Is science very dangerous?” he asked quickly.

“It can be, yes. Depending on what you’re doing. It doesn’t always have to be- but yes, there are usually hazards. Not just corrosive materials, what you may think of as classically dangerous, acids and the like. Dissections, for example- using sharp instruments and exposing yourself to foreign bodily fluids. It’s not uncommon to poke yourself with a pin or to slip with a blade, and it’s doubly dangerous because there are some- myself included- who feel that mixing your blood with the blood of animals can cause sickness. A few german doctors I know had some interesting theories about the causes of sickness, but they were a bit… radical.”

“Radical? How so?”

“Well… it’s actually quite ingenious- there’s a theory that everything is made up of millions of incredibly small living subunits, called ‘cells’. And these german doctors believe that there are unicellular things, so small that you can’t see them, that cause sickness and disease, and they infect our bodies and kill our own cells. They call them infectious agents, or pathogens,” Carlos explained, trying to summarize it without being too technical or complex.

“You’re saying… tiny invisible creatures give me my yearly head cold?” Cecil repeated, one eyebrow arching disbelievingly.

“I fully believe in the idea of cells making up living things. There’s proof of that, under the proper microscopes- machines that allow us to magnify images and see very small things- you can actually see them. Sometime I’ll see if I can show you,” he said with a shrug. “The idea of them causing disease is a bit perplexing, I’ll admit. But it does have its merits, and there is evidence to support it. There’s an experiment with yogurt that I could guide you through to help prove it.”

"You would let me do science with you? But... You said its dangerous! What if I break one of your beautiful glass apparatuses, or poison us both?" Cecil gasped, his reaction and raised voice startling Carlos. “What if we are devoured by the tiny invisible creatures?”

"Devoured? Its not- its only some science that's dangerous. And it doesn't involve much for glassware. Furthermore, I would be right there for the entire experiment. Though I suggest you lower your expectations- it isn't a terribly exciting procedure," he said apologetically. “Especially not compared to your practice.”

“Tch. Mine is terribly repetitive. It’s not a frontier of knowledge, like yours. I’m just a… police officer, of sorts. Or more like a security guard. I just keep the people and the elsethings on the correct sides of the walls,” he shrugged dismissively, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette.

“I suppose we can agree to disagree,” Carlos mumbled, carefully setting up the delicate instruments about the room. He had chosen a room close to the library, so he could move samples quickly. It had numerous windows for ventilation of any hazardous vapors, and excellent lighting in case he wanted to work late into the night. He was glad to be out of the cramped lab he’d set up at the inn.

“Who is this?”

Carlos turned and peered over Cecil’s shoulder at the frame in his hands. “My siblings and I, a few years ago. That’s my older sister, Jacqueline, and my kid sister, Kirra. Jacqueline married a very successful Welsh merchant last year, and Kirra is turning out to be quite a little genius.”

Cecil seemed relieved for some reason. “A genius? Just like her big brother.”

“I don’t know if I would wish that upon her. I had a hard enough time acquiring the education I craved. She is doubly damned, for her skin and her gender. I would love to have a sister scientist to discuss chemistry and geology and biology with, but it would be a very hard path for her. My mother, last I received a letter from her, was trying to channel her intellect into the arts, mostly music. She’s already quite masterful at the piano, and has begun with the harp. She wrote a letter to me as well, and expressed a desire learn the violin and flute and to eventually begin composing,” he said wryly.

“Amazing. How old is she?”

“Twelve in three months. She has much drive. She keeps requesting books of science, and I fear I’m weak to refusing anything to my baby sister,” he said with a guilty smile. “Jacqueline isn’t as much a scholar as Kirra and I, but she is as intellectual. She wooed her husband, Bowen, with ease, and expressed to me that she has been subtly influencing his financial decisions at the dinner table. She may not be a scientist or a musician, but she is clever and manipulative, terrifyingly so,” he laughed.

“Ah. It didn’t hurt that she’s beautiful, too. I believed them to be your wife and child for a moment, I confess,” he said guiltily.

Carlos laughed at how foolish the idea seemed to him. “No. Though I suppose, it does look a bit like we could be our own small family. I guess. I’ve never had any real desire to marry, or to have children,” he sighed. “I’ve always struggled so much for acceptance, that the idea of something beyond that, beyond even friendship, love- seemed unreachable. Not something to even consider. As for children- well, I’ve forgotten to even feed myself for spans of time while in the lab. I can’t imagine trying to keep another human being alive, I am far too irresponsible for it.”

“That makes me sad. That you’ve never even thought of love. Love is an important part of this world. All beings love,” Cecil said quietly.

“Truly?”

“Of course. It isn’t just part of society, or social habit. It isn’t just what makes us human, the ability and desire to love. It’s something far greater than that. Tied deeply in with the power of decisiveness and communication and ethics, all the things that make us sentient, more than the beasts of this world, because even they feel love,” he said firmly.

“Animals do not feel love,” Carlos snorted.

“Many birds mate for life. I have observed this myself in the garden. I have seen Dana’s familiars behave in a manner that is unexplainable, except with love. She had a pair of labradors once. They were male and female, and were as close to happily married as I can imagine a pair of beings. The male died of age before the female. We buried him in the garden, and the female refused to leave his grave. Dana all but ordered her to, but she wouldn’t go. She ceased eating, and soon earned her place beside him again, in death,” he said solemnly.

“But… aren’t familiars more human than the average dumb beast?”

“Carlos, there is no such thing as a dumb beast. Beasts, maybe, but they have the potential to be as intelligent as you or I. And there is no difference between a familiar and your everyday creature. The familiar is simply given a clear purpose in a language they can understand.”

“How…?” Carlos shook his head with confusion, and Cecil sighed.

“Any animal can be a familiar, The only reason that animals are considered ‘dumb’ is because they don’t understand our language, and us theirs. Dana speaks to them. A form of telepathic speak, I believe, I’ve never asked her, but she doesn’t change them or control them in any way. Simply gives them work in exchange for a home, company, good care, sustenance.”

Carlos thought on that for a moment. “Animals can love. But… so… Love isn’t what sets us aside, as the superior beings of the world?”

Cecil laughed. “No. Love doesn’t set us aside, it unites us all as living beings. What sets us aside as the primary- I wouldn’t say superior- beings is our laziness.”

“Laziness!?” Carlos cried, more turned around than before.

“Of course.”

“But- what about our intellect-,”

“Animals can learn.  
“Or motivation, we’re motivated-,”

“By a lack of motivation. We shape the world around us, not because we’re motivated, but because we want other things to accomplish tasks for us, or do only have to do something once. We stay in one place and build homes and towns because we are too lazy to graze and hunt and stay in motion, like the rest of the creatures of this world.”

“Education, then-,”

“Is all so we can ‘better the world’, also known as ‘make things easier’.”

“But what about our curiosity?”

“Have you never seen a cat stick its nose where it shouldn’t? Animals have curiosity.”

“Well, there are many scientists who have goals to understand the world, not to improve it. They create and invent nothing, merely study.”

“That is something we share with animals. Perhaps we spread the knowledge better, but animals quest to understand their environments as well. They may not ask the same questions. And sure, we do have more curiosity to drive us, but the main push behind progress and domination is laziness. We do not conquer the world from beasts because we are better, or we are determined. We do it because we’re too lazy to sit up and watch over each other, because we’re too lazy to compete constantly.”

“That’s… very philosophical…” Carlos trailed off. Cecil had given him much to think about. His head faintly whirled. “What of the elsethings? Do they love?”

“They do,” Cecil said, but there was an uncertain edge to his voice. And unspoken addendum to that, as though the answer and the question couldn’t quite go together. “In their own manner.”

“How do you know?”

“There is no other way to explain some of their behaviors.”

“Such as?”

“I tire of speaking of such philosophy,” he said abruptly. “And we’ve been working hard with but a bite of bread from Dana for lunch. I should like to go begin cooking dinner, we’re about done here. What’s left to do are things I don’t understand and would hinder more than help. It will be ready to eat when you finish.” He left the room with an emotion-heavy whirl.

 

 


	10. Walking the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back  
> (hint: it's me)

“I tire of speaking of such philosophy,” he said abruptly. “And we’ve been working hard with but a bite of bread from Dana for lunch. I should like to go begin cooking dinner, we’re about done here. What’s left to do are things I don’t understand and would hinder more than help. It will be ready to eat when you finish.” He left the room with an emotion-heavy whirl.

Carlos detested the silence he left behind, but mulled over what he’d said. As capricious and prone to sharp emotional turns as Cecil was, he did so enjoy his company, and was certain he wouldn’t tire of the strange man.

He brought it up again as they ate at the dinner table, a dark, savory stew with a strangely yellow but delicious bread to dip in it. Cecil informed him it was challah (pronounced hollhah) bread, a type of egg bread. His earlier temper had vanished like moisture in the sand wastes. It seemed he had gotten over whatever had struck him, and Carlos had never been particularly tactful anyways.

“If animals love, and are as sentient as you or I, then how can you condone eating them?” he asked, gesturing with a spoonful of beef.

“I am very careful about the meat I select. I trust only a certain butcher and herd many miles north of here. Dana takes a trip once a week to resupply, perhaps once every other week. She selects the animals herself, speaking to them, choosing the ones who are agreeable with the circumstance. I worried about this once, long ago, and refused meat for a long while. I became rather ill,” he said with a shy shrug. “I didn’t balance the loss of meat well, like I should have, and she began informing me of the truths. Most herd animals have their own religions. To be devoured is to enter the next life, which is their true goal. This life is but a… first step. An introduction to the world. And the next is their true life.”

Carlos conjured a strange vision of cows in a church, sitting on the pews and one upright at the altar, beating a hoof on its surface with supplication, and shook his head. “I am a scientist, but I now firmly accept that there are some things I will never be able to wrap my mind around.”

Cecil giggled spectacularly. “It is peculiar, isn’t it? Personally, I think the best way to die would be swallowed by a giant snake. Going feet first and whole into a slimy maw would give your life perfect symmetry."

Carlos thought about that for a moment, grimaced, and promptly put that tidbit from his mind. "Do you think about death often?" he inquired. The snake thing sounded like it had a lot of thought behind it.

"Probably much more than a person should. But with my, er, practice, I've more than earned death many times over. After having very nearly experienced dying so many times, of course I've thought about it."

"You've had that many near death experiences?" he asked curiously.

"Of course. My practice is rather hazardous. I make many enemies, and the walk between this place, the ofworld, and that place, the

otherworld, is a fine line, a blade's edge. Bad things happen when they mix, and they try to mix, and whenever they do, I must be there."

"What are some things that can go wrong?"

"The summoning, for one. For example, trading the fourth and fifth syllables will send the speaker into the otherworld, rather than pulling things from it. A broken pentacle will allow elsethings to attack the summoner. A lack of focus when employing punishment could allow the elsething to reverse it. Other mispronunciations could lead to summoning something else. There are also strange rumors about names- nothing is said for certain in the book or in any other lore I’ve found, but there is a peculiar trend connecting names to power. I’m not even sure what it means- if it means that knowing an elsething’s name would give me power, or them power, or them knowing my name… but many of them know I’m called Cecil. It may have something to do with a full name- first, middle, and last- but again, I’m not sure.”

“As curious as that makes me, I don’t believe it would be wise to experiment with that,” Carlos said with a frown.

“So you do wish to apply science to the otherworld?” Cecil asked excitedly. “What about science you were doing before this?”

“It was interesting, but after all this, and you, and what I’ve already seen- well, I’ve been given a unique opportunity, as a scientist, and it would be a terrible thing to waste it,” he reasoned. “Tonight, when we summon the other elsething- Ruffth, you said?- I should much like to be allowed to ask it a few questions, or take some samples. Though, I need to make something to take samples with- you said I couldn’t enter the pentagram… hmm. Perhaps something on a long pole, I could stand outside and reach in with it…”

“Pure iron has been known to hurt elsethings, so they wouldn’t be able to seize it and use it against you. I can have one made, easily enough. However, it will take a day or two, and I would rather you wait for questions and doing science for when I’m summoning a less malevolent elsething. Ruffth isn’t extremely powerful, but he is cunning and harbors only wicked intentions,” Cecil said carefully. “I mean, I'm sure you know how to safely do science, but I would be distraught if a single hair on your head was harmed because of your involvement with me," he hurriedly added.

"If you insist, I'll wait. You know best, in this area," he conceded.

“I hope you don’t take it personally. I’m not doubting you, or placating you or anything, I swear I just would rather wait.”

“Cecil, it’s fine,” he said, smiling to show that he wasn’t upset. “Really, you know best.”

Cecil relaxed, and Carlos cautiously pressed on. “So what do you know about Ruffth?”

"I know he constantly overestimates himself, which is his biggest downfall. He likes to push the boundaries. He likes grotesque, classically horrific guises, so be ready when I pull him through for something disturbing. He meddles in things beyond his power- this balloon trick is just one example of his fooling about. He thinks he's a higher class of elsething than he is, and will claim to have high powered friends. When he isn't blustering, he's actually fairly clever. If he understood exactly the limit of his power, he would be much more of a threat."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Make an example of him," Cecil said grimly. "He's been doing things like this for far too long, I can't let it continue. I just can't. Some of the other elsethings have been getting rowdy as well- like the one that drew me away from the party, when we first met- and I can't permit them to think that such insurrection is possible."

"Will you kill him?"

"No, no. I value life in all forms, even one as poisonous as Ruffth's, I try to avoid killing as much as I can. And... Well, if I killed him, who would witness that the ofworld isn't a playground?"

"Then... You're going to punish him? How?" Carlos knew Cecil was many things, not all of them classically 'good', but he certainly couldn't imagine him being a torturer, or anything else classically 'bad'.

Cecil rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, looking wan. “I know you think of me as a good person, Dr. Carlos, but the line I walk is thin. I’m not sure if I’m a good person or a bad person- but I do know that sometimes, I find myself having to do bad things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose Ep 47 jumpstarted my writing again. Plus, yknow, summer. So I actually have time to write. I hope to be updating at least once a week now that I'm back in the swing of things. For anyone who's been impatient or had given up, thank you for coming back *throws confetti* we should have a PICNIC to celebrate


	11. Putrescine

“I don’t think you’re a good person, I know it,” he said firmly. Cecil merely smiled tiredly at him. “And, as a scientist, I only speak the truth. So if I say you’re a good person, then you are absolutely, certainly, doubtlessly a good person,” he added, and Cecil’s smile brightened and became a bit more real.

“If you say so,” Cecil replied casually, but Carlos could see that his simple statement had pleased him greatly.

He pushed his plate away and stood. “I’m finished if you are, and I’m eager to see what will happen. I’m afraid you’ve caught my scientific interest, and once I start a project, I intend to follow through with it. Shall we?”

“I’m not as eager as you, but I suppose we should get it over with.” He too stood, and led Carlos through the labyrinth of his estate to the library, and opened the massive doors with ease. The pentacle was just as it had been the night before. Cecil began refilling some of the bowls around the edges with fragrant, spicy smelling herbs. He dropped a tooth in each.

“What kind of tooth is that?” Carlos asked curiously, peering into one of the bowls.

“Deer, I think. The only requirement is that it be a tooth from an herbivore, for peace and for repressing bloodlust. Ruffth isn’t the most flesh-hungry elsething, but it’s better to be safe than horrifically mauled and disfigured for the rest of your life. You know the saying,” Cecil explained.

“Right, yes… that saying. Can I look at your book?” he inquired, wandering over to where it sat on a low table.

“Go ahead. Do you read modified Sumerian?” Cecil asked eagerly.

“Modified…? No, I don’t. Unless it’s related to German or Latin.”

“Sadly, it is not. You speak German? I understand Latin is the language of science, but I didn’t expect German.”

"Ich arbeitete eng mit mehreren deutschen Wissenschaftlern zusammen, als ich meine Diplomarbeit schrieb,” Carlos said in explanation. _I worked closely with several german scientists when I did my thesis_. He opened his mouth to translate, but Cecil was speaking.

“Natürlich. Ich erinnere mich, dass sie deutsche Ärzte erwähnten,” he answered with a nod, the German sounding uncannily natural in his low baritone. He spoke it like someone born and raised in Berlin.

“How many languages do you know?” Carlos asked, impressed.

“Plenty. English, German, Latin, modified Sumerian, Swahili, Welsh, Russian, Navajo, Arabic, Urdu, Italian, Sanskrit… I think that’s it. Oh, and Spanish, but not fluently,” he said apologetically.

“How, might I ask, do you know so many languages? And so many obscure ones,” Carlos marveled.

Cecil shrugged. “My mother said I was the ‘Voice.’ There were tablets in a secret catacomb beneath City Hall that said as much, but I can’t get down there anymore to check.”

“Why not?”

“There are seals that appeared over the entrance. I think she might’ve put them there, because I sure didn’t. It prevents anyone or anything non-mundane from entering. I’m, er, ‘unique’ enough to not be able to enter. And I wouldn’t let anyone else go down there, I don’t know what it would do to them. Reading the future kind of hurts,” he said, wincing as he remembered. “So don’t get any ideas.”

“Ah, of course,” Carlos said, only slightly sarcastically, lifting Cecil’s book. He huffed out a breath- it was extremely heavy, even for something as large as it was. He recalled walking into the library and Cecil holding it with one hand, and looked at the strange Lilithian man again, more carefully.

He certainly didn’t look strong. He looked fit enough- when he’d removed his shirt to summon Gozale, there hadn’t been much fat on him, but he wasn’t what anyone would immediately describe as muscular. Wiry would be an acceptable adjective- sharp elbows and wristbones and a faint inward curve just beneath his ribs, for a flat-planed stomach. His waist was trim as a lady’s, but his shoulders were round, with no unnecessary bulk to him. All covered in taunt, ghost-pale skin. No, he didn’t look like someone who could hold such a heavy book in one hand for any length of time.

But then, he didn’t look like a multi-dimensional police officer, either.

When Carlos set it back down and flipped open to a random page in the middle, the letters (if you could call them that) were hard to look at. The pages seemed too white, the ink too black- it was like looking into the sun, or right at something sharp. He felt like he needed to squint against it, and still couldn’t read it, or make out much of anything.

“What did you say this was? Modified Sanskrit?”

“Modified Sumerian,” Cecil corrected, approaching after checking every line of the pentacle carefully.

“Is it written with any unique ink or paper?”

“Not that I know of, why?”

“Because it hurts to look at,” Carlos said with a small impressed laugh, looking away from the pages and rubbing his eyes. “It’s like looking into the center of a fire, bright and hot.”

“Really?” Cecil said with interest, examining the page with new eyes. “Interesting. I didn’t know that. It must be an ofworldly thing. Dana looked at the pages once and she didn’t mention that, and I don’t think anyone mundane as you has ever tried to read it.”

“Is it the book or the words themselves? Could you write something in this- this ‘Sumerian’, and let me look at it?” Carlos asked, curious and excited.

Cecil rounded the desk and dug out an inkwell and a pen, and a scrap of paper, and wrote a few glyphs with a flourish. “My penmanship is a nightmare, but this will do. Can you look at it without pain?”

Carlos accepted the paper and immediately squinted again and set it back down. “No. It must be the language itself doing that. That’s fascinating.”

“Even I have to admit that’s odd. But! We can examine this later, I’d like to get on with the summoning.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Now, are the same rules going to apply?” Carlos asked as Cecil took his place just outside the pentacle and removed his shirt.

“Hmm. I suppose they ought to. You can ask a few questions, if you have a moment, but I would like this to be a fairly short summoning. Don’t be afraid to speak, but save the bulk of your science for another time.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Then we begin,” Cecil said. He bounced on his toes for a moment, like last time, and Carlos couldn’t help but smile at his little warm-up motions. The smile turned into a grimace as he started speaking. Cecil’s voice was so resonant and power-heavy, if it wasn’t being used to form words that made Carlos see spots, he would’ve loved to listen to it all day. It felt like small burst were going off within his ears and just behind his eyes, and finally the rip formed, and the words and discomfort went away.

Those three syllables- but this time, Carlos recognized Ruffth’s name in it- and that magnificent tattoo was peeling away in jittering curls, to reach out and through the seam between worlds. Carlos chewed on his lower lip excitedly.

He ceased all motion when he saw what Cecil was pulling out of the rend.

It was, by definition, ‘humanoid’, as it had four limbs and a trunk and a head, but that was the last word Carlos would apply to it. Distorted, hulking, shamelessly brutal and brutally macabre, Carlos’s mouth fell open slightly in amazement.

Once, when walking along the river Cam, discussing the peculiar behavior of amphoteric compounds, they had noticed a boat of policemen anchored beneath a bridge, and a company of strong men pulling something out of the water with ropes. They’d wandered over to see. His companion had staggered away to retch in the bushes when the smell hit, but Carlos had pressed forward, curious, and his eyes had lit on the bloated, distended corpse that they had pulled out of the river.

This was a bit like that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord I hate and despair and love google translate. THANK YOU to demonicmilk for correcting the German bit for me! A thousand pies for them! (Wheat and wheat by product free, of course.)
> 
> Also- next chapter has major foul language warning. Slurs and swearing and the whole nine yards. Yikes.


	12. Cadaverine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really awful language here, I'm sorry, I hate some of the slurs used here but it's a necessary part of a character's personality. Please don't take offense.

Once, when walking along the river Cam, discussing the peculiar behavior of amphoteric compounds, they had noticed a boat of policemen anchored beneath a bridge, and a company of strong men pulling something out of the water with ropes. They’d wandered over to see. His companion had staggered away to retch in the bushes when the smell hit, but Carlos had pressed forward, curious, and his eyes had lit on the bloated, distended corpse that they had pulled out of the river.

This was a bit like that, but it smelled of sulfur rather than cadaverine and putrescine, and there wasn’t water running off in foul rivulets.

He remembered what Cecil had said about Ruffth being proud and shut his mouth quickly, rearranging his face to polite disinterest. He wouldn’t give the creature the satisfaction.

The moment it was fully through, before it had time to say anything, Cecil had dropped him unceremoniously on the floor in the middle of the pentacle, removed his tendrils, and spoke a syllable- the same he had to punish Gozalle- followed by another two short words. A third level punishment.

The thing- Ruffth- growled and jerked. Blue bolts snapped through the air around it, and then it vanished.

“Fucking hello to you to, prig,” Ruffth snarled in a low rumble, getting to its feet. Most of his voice seemed to come from his teeth and his lower jaw, giving it an almost bestial accent. Upright and standing, his proportions were even more horrifically wrong.

“So, I was speaking to some friends the other day, and they mentioned hearing you bragging about some little prank you pulled here,” Cecil said menacingly.

“I don’t know what the fuck you me-,” he was cut off as Cecil spoke again and called lightning pain forth.

“Tell me the truth.”

“Shove it-,” and he was interrupted by another bolt.

“Ruffth, we can do this all day,” Cecil snapped. “Your choice.”

The creature turned away, mumbling to himself.

“Speak up,” Cecil asserted, his tattoo rippling.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want to me, but it don’t matter. You’ll get your own fucking shitfire hell in the end, it’s all in motion and you’ve got no fucking clue,” Ruffth said, turning. “They’ll all be here and be all over you and you won’t be able to do fucking _nothing_.”

Cecil snorted and spoke the words for pain again, and then walked close to the circle, eyes narrowing.

“I’ve had it with your lies and slander, Ruffth. This is my town. This place is **mine** and it is **under my protection**. I want you to go back and tell everyone that **you can’t come here and cause hell, unless you’re willing to face hell yourself. Not my town**.” His voice took on that powerful quality again, the weight and compulsion of a hurricane, and Carlos’s ears throbbed with a sudden pressure in the room.

Ruffth bared his teeth- they were brown and rusty from sludge and blood, and it poured from his mouth in viscous globs and all down his front. “Yours for now. Hold on to it, faggot weakling, it will be gone soon enough.”

Cecil scoffed. “Really? What makes you think that?”

“You’ve never dealt with a real insurgency before. We know you won’t be able to handle it.”

“You and what army?”

Ruffth did nothing. He was smiling.

“Right. You’ve got nothing but bluster and words and some foul spew from that abhorrent face-hole you call a mouth. I think we’re done here.”

“I’ll be back. With all my new friends.”

Cecil sighed. “I forgot, I guess we aren’t done. You brought this on yourself,” Cecil said, reaching back into the pentacle with his tendrils. Ruffth jerked away from them, but they were inescapable and persistent, surrounding until a thick black limb was wrapped around each wrist and ankle, and one gingerly wrapped around his face, diagonally, from the corner of his left jaw to his right temple. “I know you don’t wear shapes over there, but this will still be visible, in whatever mess you exist as. Everyone will see it. They’ll smell my power on it, they’ll know I’m here and I’m not to be trifled with. **Not. My. Town**.”

With each word, the tendril around his face squeezed tighter. Ruffth struggled, trying to lift his hands to pull it away, but they were yanked down to his sides, pulled down so hard he collapsed to his knees.

Cecil spoke the words for punishment again- this time, _five_ syllables.

There was a flash. Carlos threw his arm up over his eyes, and when he lowered it, Cecil was lifting Ruffth’s limp form and pressing it back into the rift. There was a deep black line burned into his face, where Cecil had squeezed. And then he was gone, back elsewhere, and the rift closed and Cecil was the one who dropped to his knees.

Carlos skidded to his side, gently cupping his chin and lifting his face. His eyes were closed, and he reached along his neck with the other hand, checking for a pulse-

“If you’re going to stroke my face and neck like this every time I get a bit woozy, I’ll be doing this much more often,” Cecil muttered, smiling and opening his eyes tiredly. The whites were shot through with red- broken vessels from the force of impressing his will on the elsething. Carlos huffed out a relieved breath, dropping his hand to Cecil’s shoulder to give it a reassuring (and less intimate) squeeze. “I’m sorry, did I alarm you?”

“A little, when I saw your eyes were closed I was worried, you said you rarely did the fifth level of punishment, and Ruffth was putting up quite a fight-,”

Cecil laughed, interrupting him, and Carlos blinked. “I meant when I was hurting him. I was worried I frightened you, or that he frightened you, or that you would think me cruel or violent.”

“No, no! You’re too… You just don’t seem like the type who would bring harm to anything without due cause.” Initially, he had thought Cecil seemed like the type who wouldn’t bring harm to anything ever, but after that performance, he was realizing how fiercely loyal Cecil was.

“What about Ruffth?”

“He turned my stomach for certain, but I wasn’t afraid. You seem like you’ve got things under control.”

Cecil blushed furiously, and Carlos clasped his hand to pull him to his feet. He winced as he wrapped his tattoo around himself and it sunk into his skin, and Carlos was aware that it was down to his hips, and covered his hands up to his knuckles, and a few barbs had run up the back of his neck.

“Do you think that will dissuade any others from coming to mess with the town?” Carlos asked, handing Cecil his shirt. He pulled it on and leaned back against a table, crossing his legs.

“I hope so. He’ll say it wasn’t bad and try to use it to rally others, maybe, but if the others listened to him, then he would’ve had an army long ago. An army,” Cecil scoffed, shaking his head. “He always talks about powerful friends, which I’ve long since learned was complete hogwash, but an army is new. I’m glad I acted when I did, he’s getting far too cocky.”

“He didn’t seem as prideful as I expected- someone lying about having powerful friends, I expect, would’ve pulled names and given intimidating details and overly blustering- when you asked ‘what army’, I anticipated him going on for long minutes, talking about powerful folks in his ‘army’, but he seemed… evasive,” Carlos said carefully.

“Maybe his teeth were rattled from the punishments I was giving him,” Ceci said, at attempt at a joke. His voice shook slightly.

“Cecil. It’s okay. He deserves it. He left you no choice,” Carlos said firmly.

“Right. He deserved it.”

“Are you okay?”

Cecil was quiet for a moment. “You know why I can’t get up to a sixth level punishment or higher?” Carlos blinked, and Cecil looked down at his knees, speaking clearly but with audible fear. “No matter how much someone deserves it, I can’t do that much. I can hardly do a five. It’s because I’ve been on the receiving end.”

Carlos sucked in a breath through his nose.

“And having experienced it, whenever I reach for a higher dose of pain, all I can think of is my own experience, and I… maybe I deserved it too. That didn’t make it any better. What I just did to Ruffth- certainly he had it coming. But I don’t believe the answer is to try to hurt someone until they feel regret. There must be another way. Just once, I’d like to just talk to one and make them understand that they did wrong, without having to hurt them. I’d like to give reason a shot. It has never, not once in history, worked, but I just think, _maybe this time_. And then I can feel their distaste and rage the moment I grab them and pull them through, and I know that, as I’m getting ready to not hurt them, they’re getting ready to hurt me.”

“Why were you… When… did you experience it?” Carlos asked cautiously.

“That’s... not important, what’s important is that I did experience it, and now I’m hampered by empathy.”

“But empathy is good,” he asserted. Cecil shook his head.

“No, no, it’s not always good. It can be good. But here- I’m trying to do the right thing, to protect my town, and it kills me to defend my town because this damned empathy is in the way. I should feel right and justified in punishing that cretin- you saw how crude and vicious he is, he’s a rabid dog and I should put him down for everyone’s good, but I can’t, and if he comes back and people are hurt or killed- _people under my protection_ \- then it will be because of this empathy. I can’t decide if I should kill him and those like him and suffer the agony my conscience will impose on me, or let him live and feel better, but endanger my charges.”

“If you regret-,”

“Regret! The present tense of regret is indecision. The future tense of fear is either _tragedy_ , or comedy. And the past tense of toast is toasted. Don’t you get it? This empathy causes me to be faltering on decisions that should be obvious. And my hesitancy will lead to something terrible, and then I’ll look back and be furious with myself for merely turning the other cheek, rather than taking an eye for an eye. I am the bridge between worlds; the Voice and the Sense and even sometimes the Law. I can’t be unstable or wavering,” he said, striking the flat top of the table with his fist and gritting his teeth. “I hate myself for causing pain, and I hate myself for being unable to cause pain. I am weak.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone have any theories on what's going to happen next? There are a few keys that are revealed here. I tried to be subtle. One in particular, I'm wondering if anyone will pick up on. Go on, have a guess!


	13. Fireside Comfort

“Regret! The present tense of regret is indecision. The future tense of fear is either tragedy, or comedy. And the past tense of toast is toasted. Don’t you get it? This empathy causes me to be faltering on decisions that should be obvious. And my hesitancy will lead to something terrible, and then I’ll look back and be furious with myself for merely turning the other cheek, rather than taking an eye for an eye. I am the bridge between worlds; the Voice and the Sense and even sometimes the Law. I can’t be unstable or wavering,” he said, striking the flat top of the table with his fist and gritting his teeth. “I hate myself for causing pain, and I hate myself for being unable to cause pain. I am weak.”

Carlos observed him silently for a moment. He was a tableau of frustration- leaning heavily against the table as though his legs wouldn’t support him, jaw clenched, hands in fists, one with the knuckles sitting in a shallow but splintered dent in the table, eyes tight shut, shoulders hunched, and face turned away as if in shame.

The first thing a scientist is is self-reliant. Second, a scientist is inquisitive. And third or fourth (logical was up in the top five as well, somewhere,) a scientist was practical. So Carlos applied his practicality. He couldn’t assuage Cecil’s anguish and indecision and fear for his town and concern for his own ability. He couldn’t do what Cecil couldn’t and kill Ruffth. He couldn’t even let him take a day to himself and take care of his duties in his stead.

He could break the tableau. He could help his peace of mind. He could bandage that hand.

Silently and decisively, he stepped forward and brushed his fingers lightly through Cecil’s hair, just above his ear, in a gesture his mother had often used to soothe his own nerves. Just once. Just gently.

He then carefully put one hand on the wrist of his scratched hand and lifted it lightly out of the splintery dent and put his other hand under Cecil’s fingrs, uncurling his fist without any resistance and presenting Cecil’s scraped knuckles. He blew away a few shreds of wood and plucked a small sliver from the knuckle of his annular finger.

“Where would I find bandages and water for this?” he asked steadily.

“O-over here,” Cecil replied, seeming to be completely thrown by Carlos’s actions. He led him over to a cupboard at one of the walls and opened a drawer to reveal some very extensive medical supplies- Carlos even noticed a cauter and a lamp to heat it over. There was a bowl of water on top of the cupboard, and Carlos dipped Cecil’s hand in the water, gently wiping at the scrapes with his thumbs a few times to clean it of any more wood debris, dried it with one cloth, and wrapped it with a second, tying it neatly.

“By my calculations, do you know what will save the most lives?” he asked.

“I… no, what?” Cecil asked, sounding a bit lost.

Carlos answered firmly, speaking clearly to try to make Cecil understand his logic. “Your life. You can only do what you can live with. Nobody can ask from you that which you can’t give. You can only do so much- if you do something that you know you can’t handle and we lose you- scientifically speaking, I mean lost physically, mentally, or emotionally- then lives won’t be saved. Your life is sustaining the life of those around you. Without you, they would be forfeit. There would be nothing to protect each world from the other, and it would all fall. If you must stop short of killing a creature, even if you think it deserves it, in order to save your own sense of self, that’s acceptable. Because even if it does come back and hurt or kill, it would never be able to do as much damage as the damage that would be caused by losing you.”

Cecil’s brow furrowed, and Carlos worried that he hadn’t conveyed his point clearly, but then he simply said, “You make me feel so important.”

Carlos wasn’t sure what to say so he smiled hesitantly, and Cecil wrapped his fingers around Carlos’s hand- he had still been holding the bandaged hand. “I’m exhausted. Let’s go see if Dana left a cold plate out for each of us and retire. You’ve… You’ve given me much to think about.”

Maybe he had gotten his point through. He believed every word he’d told him- Cecil was vital to the town’s survival, more than Ruffth was vital to the town’s destruction. Cecil caused good much more than Ruffth could cause bad.

The conversation lightened considerably over cold turkey sandwiches dipped in gravy that had been kept warm over the hearth and fresh, crisp carrots eaten with the greens still attached. Carlos figured Cecil wasn’t fully recovered from his stress when he smoked half a dozen cigarettes, one right after another, after their meal, but he found the warmth and smoke of the room oddly comforting. And the perfect smoke rings were mesmerizing to watch.

“How do you do that? They’re magnificent,” Carlos said, lazily waving a few fingers through one, dispersing it in spiraling wisps.

“What, the rings? You have to very lightly push the smoke out of your mouth- I don’t draw all of the smoke into my lungs, I let some just sit in my mouth, and carefully just form an ‘o’ and…” he took a small drag from the cigarette and demonstrated. “I’ve been doing it for years- I used to have to do it by tapping my cheek, but I was determined to get it right. If I manifest, I can use my tattoo to twist the smoke into more shapes, but I can’t exactly do that in public.”

“Do people really have no idea what you do? They must realize a bit- you said sometimes they come to you and tell you something is happening.”

“Well, they have an idea. They know that when something strange happens and you go to Cecil, it goes away. But they also associate me with the strangeness- I cause just as much as I remove. Most of them probably think it to be sorcery. They all adore Dana. She’s the one who goes into town to do errands, and everyone who meets her- which is many- finds her to be a joy to be around. Though she isn’t as refined as people want a woman to be, she makes people laugh and smile. She is utterly likeable, while I am merely eccentric.”

“I find your eccentricity to make you even more likeable,” Carlos pointed out, and Cecil smiled bashfully.

“Well, er, I… yes, thank you. Few people think that way,” he said carelessly, rolling his eyes. “So they know that I have some sort of power not of this world. They don’t know that half my heritage belongs to another world entirely, or that I bear a living tattoo manifestation, or what the root of the troubles they face are. I try to keep them as blissfully naive as possible. If they see something, they say nothing, and drink to forget. It makes it easier for everyone.” He stifled a yawn against the back of his hand as he dropped the spent cigarette in the fire.

“You look exhausted, I’ve kept you up,” Carlos realized, standing.

“No, no, it’s fine. I enjoy your company.”

“Well, my company seems to be firmly settled here, so you can enjoy it after a nice night’s rest.”

Cecil stood and they went back up all the stairs to the hallway where their rooms were. The knife in Carlos’s door was still there, and Cecil seemed to not notice it at all, while it sent Carlos into irrational giggles.

“I’ll likely sleep late in the morning, so don’t wait around for me. Dana is around, and she’s asked Khoshehk to keep an eye out for you. So just ask any cats or other animals you see around for directions, if you get lost. Help yourself to the pantry, and the library- I just ask that you not read anything aloud that you find in there. I’ll probably arise around noon.”

“Alright. Good night,” Carlos said, smiling at Cecil’s half-mast sleepy eyes.

“Good night.”

That was the first night Carlos had nightmares.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THESE DORKS UGH  
> I do so love writing abstract and nightmare and stream of consciousness. (Or subconsciousness, same dif)


	14. This is Not Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always write in a google doc, not chapter by chapter but as a whole document, the entire story, and copy/paste a selection as a chapter in here, and I do so HATE how it doesn't paste the formatting- I have to go back in and find all the italics and bold and underlines and put them in. Irritating. First world problems. Ugh.

That was the first night Carlos had nightmares.

_Rushing. There was a sense of speed, of moving at a massively high pace, but there was no wind or sound to verify the sensation. Just darkness, rushing-_

_Something ahead, coming at him. Or he was approaching it, or perhaps they were moving toward each other. He had no reference point to clarify, no way to gather his bearings in the black void. A splinter of light in the shape of a crack, closing in rapidly._

_He was looking out of the rift, surrounded by darkness and unable to pass through, but able to squint through the crack. He could hardly see and had to shift and shuffle to try to view the room, but what he could see was… no..._

_Cecil was kneeling in the center of the pentacle, below the rift, below Carlos’s point of view, back bent and head down. His own tattoo had manifested and was holding his hands together behind his back like manacles, and his ankles were bound, and one wrapped around his head- Carlos couldn’t see his face but he knew that Cecil had been silenced, the Voice was gagged by his own birthright. The two halves of the Lilithian had turned on each other._

_“ **Xxsi ssxi xiisxi xx ixssis,** ” something spoke, and Carlos struggled to see the speaker. They stood just outside the pentacle in Cecil’s usual place, but no matter how he turned or squinted, he just couldn’t see them, and their words made no sense, they weren’t even real words._

This is not reality.

_Cecil made a muffled sound, some sort of response, and his own tentacles moved- wrapping around his wrists and feet and lifting him up, impossibly suspended by his own black elsething limbs-_

_-just as Ruffth had been-_

_-and one tendril reached around his head, wrapping diagonally-_

_-just as Ruffth had been-_

_Somehow Cecil was suddenly facing Carlos, without him having perceived him turning around, and his eyes were wide and black, and his mouth was wide and black and sharp, and more mouths opened along his bare chest and arms, snapping and biting at the air hungrily with shiny steel knife teeth, sawing at their own edges, at Cecil’s skin, and black lines crawled beneath his pale flesh like worms, squirming over and through him-_

_… It was not Cecil. No._

_The tendril around the not-Cecil’s face unwrapped and extended toward Carlos. He was paralyzed, he couldn’t move away from the rift, away from the reaching limb and the not-Cecil abomination. It tilted its head slightly, still smiling. Smiling. Smiling._

This is _not_ reality.

_“ **Xxxs xs ssi xsiix** ,” it spoke again, nonsense, horrible and terrible nonsense. Carlos felt deeply disturbed and unsettled, an overwhelming sensation of doom that made him feel immobile and restless all at once. The tendril stopped, proferred like a hand outstretched to shake in greeting, and once more the non-Cecil opened its shiny razorblade mouth and spoke, black filth and dark blood cascading forth in a vile tide-_

_“ **MINE**.”_

_This is not reality._

Carlos woke with the moon low in the sky and the sky still dark, and shivered for a long time before falling back into a fretful, dreamless sleep.

He roused himself in the morning slowly, struggling out of unconsciousness as if it didn’t want to let him wake. It wasn’t noon, or even close to noon- he had a while before Cecil woke, surely. He washed his face and combed his hair, once again wishing he had a looking glass or some sort of reflective surface, dressed and left his room yawning drowsily.

And nearly stepped on the tiny brown kitten curled up outside his door. He stared at it with tired acceptance as it stretched and shook itself, then looked up at him expectantly. Accepting that this kitten had intelligence and yes, he was going to ask the kitten for directions.

“Er… I’d like breakfast, if you could show me to the kitchen?” he asked. “Please,” he added quickly, promptly feeling less rude but more foolish. It seemed pleased, weaving around his ankles for a moment, rubbing its soft down-like kitten fur against him, before taking off at a proud trot down the corridor.

Sure enough, it took him right to the kitchen, where Dana was kneading bread. She looked up and smiled at him without surprise, and then glanced down at the kitten, giving it a nod.

“Thank you, Eres. You can stay here- attending Dr. Carlos can be your job, as long as you don’t make a muckery of it,” Dana said to the kitten, before looking up to address Carlos. “Good morning. What would you like for breakfast? As soon as I get this rolled and rising I’ll start that.”

“No need, I’m perfectly capable of cooking my own breakfast. You work for Cecil, not I,” Carlos said quickly. “You just continue what you’re doing, just let me know where the eggs and things are to make breakfast.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with you, I suppose you can cook for yourself if you wish.” She explained where the things were in the pantries and cupboards, and soon enough he had a plate of eggs and toast with jam. He’d been rather impressed with Cecil’s pantries.

“He has the worst sweet tooth I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing he has such a massive fortune- I imagine that, were he a normal middle-class citizen, he would spend his wages on sweets rather than candles or other essentials. Sweets and clothes, that is,” Dana was saying, after Carlos had remarked on the extensive collection of sugar, honey, molasses, jam, caramels, candies, and other sugary items.

“I can’t imagine the state of his teeth. Sugar is bad for dental health,” Carlos snorted.

“You know, they’re actually quite perfect, his teeth. Sometimes that man baffles me,” she sighed, packing the dough into neat rolls and tucking them into a pan. It was such ordinary work, making bread for the week in the morning, that Carlos felt a deep sense of ease and home.

“Merely ‘sometimes’? He’s a walking, talking enigma. What about the cigarettes?”

“Yes, that’s another one. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him with a smoking cough- maybe a cough from drinking too fast, or from too late a night with a summoning and dispelling, or from ill, yes, but never a dry, smoking cough.”

“He is strangely strong. That tome he has, the one written in- what was it?- ‘modified sumerian’- he held it for a few minutes with one arm, the night he summoned Gozale. I could only hold it for a moment in one arm. And his tattoo must be powerful as well. When he summoned Ruffth, the brute had taken a fairly large form, and yet Cecil restrained him and lifted and dropped him like it was no effort at all,” Carlos marveled. “So strong, for such a frail looking man.”

“He is frail sometimes, don’t be fooled. He is just as weak as he is strong. For example- in the winter, when the temperature falls, he’s nearly constantly ill. It isn’t even very cold at all, as we’re in a desert and it rarely gets ‘cold’ compared to the rest of the world, and he demands fires all the time and piles of blankets, and has a cold every other week. Another example- he once fell down the stairs, and he was already halfway down the stairs and couldn’t have fallen more than four steps, but still broke his arm in two places. He has a poor constitution, and delicate bones. He also is anemic, most of the time- I always insist that I be present when he touches up his pentacle, because it takes little blood loss to make him swoon. He is thin, no matter how much he eats, and has absolutely no ability to grow hair anywhere but on his head. But don’t tell him I told you that bit,” she said with a confiding wink.

Carlos laughed, and touched his own jaw, where he had a few days of prickle built up. “Speaking of, I could do with a shave. I have my own razor and things, but there seem to be no mirrors in my room.”

“No, there aren’t mirrors anywhere but a chest in storage,” Dana said carefully, turning to put the pan of bread in the oven. Carlos noted that the oven wasn’t lit- but then she gestured, and it was burning as hot as though it had been heating for an hour. Of course.

“Why?”

“Cecil has a… problem. With mirrors.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

She sighed. “I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never wanted to test it, honestly. I just know that he’s absolutely petrified of his own reflection, and I found an old journal of his once, just when I started working for him… it described a part of his youth. His mother and brother had just departed, without saying where they were going or anything, and never returned. When his mother had been there, she’d covered all the mirrors in the house, and when she left, he had uncovered one and sat in front of it, writing exactly the events as they occurred. I just know that he was startled by something, and broke the quill on the page, and little else. I did manage to divine one thing from the parchment- I’m able to draw sound from items, sounds that the item has experienced. It was old, and had little to give, but it sounded… terrible.”

“How so?” Carlos asked, concerned and intrigued.

“He had started writing about strange flickerings at the edge of his sight when he was working, doing anything as a Lilithian, anything with the otherworld. Even when he was reading his books. The last thing he had written was that he was about to uncover a mirror and look in it, and the sound of whatever happened after that… it sounded as though something awful happened. I can hardly describe it. Like… a struggle. Thrashing. The soft sound of impact on flesh, the sound of hard breathing, then hardly breathing, then choking.”

“Like… being strangled?” Carlos gasped.

“No, not quite.”

“Choking- like he’d swallowed something and couldn’t breathe?”

“No, not that either- not as though something had gone down his throat, but like something was coming out. A regurgitation, almost, or an aborted vomiting, but more solid. I’ve never found out what it was. I imagine that Cecil and I are more than strong enough to deal with whatever would happen, should he encounter a mirror, but there was a growing sense of doom I got from reading the journal. I have a deep, intrinsic fear for what could happen if he looks in a mirror, and it outweighs my curiosity tenfold. I suggest you leave this one mystery unexplored. No, not suggest- I _beg_ you don’t try anything with that.”

“I swear I’ll not conduct any experiments with it- you have a seriousness to your tone, and your fear is contagious. If a centuries-old witch and a powerful half-elsething protector fear this, than a plain and simple man like myself would be a fool to try anything,” he said with a shudder.

“Good. Then I’ll have a glass brought up to your quarters, but please keep it wrapped in cloth except when using it. Never leave it lying about. Never reveal it without the door firmly closed and certain Cecil won’t come in,” she said agreeably.

“I can do that.” He mopped up the last of his eggs with his toast and went to the basin to wash his dishes, but no sooner had he dropped his things in the soapy water had a creature emerged and dexterously picked up a small brush from beside the tap, and began washing them for him. It appeared to be a six-banded armadillo.

“There’s an armadillo washing my plate,” he announced, feeling as though that was important.

“Abilene. She loves doing the washing up. I believe Cecil did say that my familiars weren’t strictly cats. I’ve never been able to find a cat that both enjoys and is good at washing dishes and laundry,” she explained. “Did you know, armadillos can hold their breath for up to six minutes?”

“I- no, I didn’t know that.” Every once and a while, when odd little things like armadillos washing his breakfast plate happened, he had a moment of strangeness where he wondered if this was all just a mad fever dream.

Something came back to him… something half forgotten.

_This is not reality._

“I had the strangest dream last night,” he muttered, trying to remember what it had been about. “I can’t remember a bit of it.” He scanned his memory, struggling to recall, but could only find a vague sense of overwhelming, inescapable doom.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one thinks the nightmare is too strange or unrelatable- I have chronic night terrors and based some of this on my experiences. Most people grow out of night terrors by the time they're 12. Lucky me, I'm over 20 and still get some every few months. The nonsensical words, being unable to see clearly, sense of motion, lingering sense of overwhelming dread, the whole nine yards- all of them are things that can happen in nightmares/terrors.
> 
> Next chapter: a familiar face who's captured the hearts of the fandom, despite very little mention. One of my biggest idols on tumblr cosplays them. Any guesses?


	15. Of Past and Present

“I had the strangest dream last night,” he muttered, trying to remember what it had been about. “I can’t remember a bit of it.”

“Earl used to have odd dreams all the time, and he claimed that he’d dreamed very rarely before moving into the estate. I gave him a drink before bed to help reduce the dreams, and he claimed it did help. If you’d like, I can help you as well,” she said kindly.

“I would appreciate it- but this is the only night I’ve dreamed, so I’ll wait a week or so and then see if I need it. But… who exactly is Earl?”

“Earl… was…” she trailed off, looking like she was trying to think of how to word it. “Hmm. Earl was… a friend. Cecil’s best friend, probably his only friend as a child. They used to run wild through the town. Cecil was the one with the want for adventure, the more reckless and destructive one. Earl held him back when he could, trying to tame him, and when he couldn’t, he was always skilled enough to keep them out of the worst of trouble. Even though Earl usually didn’t want to do dangerous things, it was him who made them succeed. And he was absolutely devout. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve guessed he was a thrall, he was so besotted with Cecil. And when Earl’s grandfather in Europe died, he took up residence in the estate when his parents sailed back, to settle matters there. When the ship never reached European soil, his place here became permanent.

“Earl knew about Cecil’s true work. He had known Cecil much longer than I had, and was more a brother to Cecil than any real blood would’ve been. Though, while Cecil saw their bond as familial, Earl saw it as something else entirely. He was completely in love with Cecil.”

Carlos felt his ears heat and redden as he realized it- two men in love, as a man and woman would be in love. But he felt no disgust or abhorrence, merely a bit embarrassed and not sure what to say. Luckily, Dana continued.

“To his credit, even though Cecil never returned his affections, Earl’s devotion never wavered. It made him melancholy some days, but he carried on. And then he received the summons. His father had been a Knight of Templar, in the highest circle, and when Earl came of age, they came in contact. He went out into the desert and was gone for two days. When he came back, he was the same Earl, but a bit… more. He had survival skills unmatched by any mere mortal, was physically fit like no human I’d ever seen, was fast and strong and lean. He could turn invisible with a force of his will, and could communicate with animals and forces of nature. He predicted the weather at the beginning of every week, and was never wrong for years. He had become the ultimate survivor. It was phenomenal,” she said with a smile.

“He’d always been very good with people in general, and children especially. Soft-spoken and kind, Earl always was. Never a bad word could be said about him. And so willing to help, with anything and everything. So when a pack of mute children entered the house and had flocked through the city- well. I- as a witch- am bound tightly, in manners you can’t conceive of, to not interfere with anything, ever. And the mute children were something else entirely, not elsethings, so Cecil was powerless. Earl played the Pied Piper and waded into the mass of the children, and they followed him, all of them, into the desert. He walked, and they walked, and they kept going until they were specks on the horizon, and still farther until we couldn’t see them.

“And Earl never returned.”

Carlos blinked at the sudden ending of the story.

“You… you never figured out what happened to him?” he asked, shocked.

“No. You may think- as you have no precedent experience with things not mortal and natural- that Cecil and I are supremely powerful, but there are things outside our reach. There are events that occur in this world that are static, things that can’t be interfered with. I suspect this was one such event,” she said somberly.

“I just… I suppose I do think that between the two of you- you and Cecil- nothing is impossible, that the world bends at your fingertips, but you’re right, I don’t know anything about the supernatural. But…” he furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t explain why Cecil thinks he went away to war.”

“He was massively disturbed by Earl’s loss, such that his powers were unreliable and he could hardly control his manifestation. He couldn’t leave the house, with his tentacles visible, he wasn’t eating properly or sleeping right. He was haunted by the idea that he could’ve done something, rather than let Earl handle the situation alone- though, at the time of the event, Cecil had argued vehemently to help, but Earl had insisted he could handle it. Cecil conceded, and Earl went out the door with a last lingering look over his shoulder, and a sad little smile to his ignorant beloved. I almost think he knew it would be his end- perhaps as a Knight of Templar, he had seen this coming.”

“He could see the future too?”

“Not that I knew of, but he seemed to have a sort of foresight. He said that sometimes, when he focused, he could see how things were going to move before they did. He said he could see a sort of golden shadow around things and people, but instead of being behind them, it was in front of them, and it showed how they would act in the second before they actually acted. It wasn’t a far-reaching foresight, not prophesy or the like, but just enough that if Cecil knocked something over, Earl was ready to catch it before it fell, because he could see the light showing it falling- he had the most fantastic, joyful laugh when such things happened. He spent a great amount of time walking through town and watching things happen before they happened.”

“I’m sad he’s gone. He sounds like an interesting and kind person, I wish I had been able to meet him,” Carlos said, shaking his head. “But continue explaining why Cecil doesn’t remember him correctly.”

“Well. With his emotional state shattered, his powers were a wreck. I finally got in touch with Jose. You have to understand, I was frantic. Cecil… as a Lilithian, and in such a hot spot for otherworldly interaction, this town can’t be left unguarded. It would take a month, perhaps less, for it to be leveled, depending on how fast the elsethings figured out he was gone. As it was, he was barely keeping the town from going mad, doing just enough to keep it from truly collapsing.

“And so Jose came.”

“Jose… she introduced herself to me. Cecil said they had something in common. And… and she had- I don’t know if they were male or female- two people with her, she said they were angels,” Carlos recalled.

“I’m surprised you remember even that much- your mind is impressive. Yes, she has angels, but you can’t acknowledge their existence. She can, but others… it doesn’t work. You saw- or tried to. She… well, none of us are sure what she is. A deity of some kind? A sorceress? A physical spirit? Maybe partly elsething, like Cecil? But we don’t call on her much. She’s very… doting. Overly so,” Dana said, curling her lip slightly. “Entirely too familiar. She thinks she’s everyone’s grandmother, she gets in your personal space and your personal business and has her finger in every pie. We try not to involve her- she complicates things, tries to take over the situation completely. But I had no idea what else to do.

“She came, with a large cluster of angels behind her. I don’t know how many- more than two, more than four. She said she needed them. She went into Cecil’s room and closed the door, and barely a minute later, re-emerged with Cecil, restored to his normal dapper self. I’m not sure what the extent of her powers are- I understand that time means nothing to her, that she seems to be able to bend the world around her to her will, and she sometimes hears what you think. I don’t know if she changed Cecil’s memories, or removed them, or just locked them up somewhere in his head. But he was back, he was happy and fully functional and even sober for a week. And he was ignorant to what really happened with Earl.”

“He doesn’t remember him?”

“Oh, he does, but he doesn’t seem to remember what exactly happened to him. Sometimes he says Earl left for university, sometimes he says he had family up north who needed him to be there, sometimes he says it was the military. He remembers him- but the closer you get to the mute children event, the fuzzier he gets,” she explained patiently.

“That’s very peculiar.”

“It is,” she agreed, with a small laugh. “But rarely do things happen around here without being peculiar.”

“It is a queer place, Night Vale,” he nodded. “But that just makes it a scientist’s dream come true.” She laughed again and turned to remove the rolls from the oven, and he bit down his instinct to react with alarm- she was barehanded, grabbing a hot tray. “I’m sorry, I’m probably keeping you from your duties.”

“Nonsense, if you were then I would say so. I’m not so doting myself- I veer more toward blunt, or even crass,” she snorted. “I was waiting for the bread to bake, but now it’s done, and I do have other things to attend to.”

“Of course. Anyways, I’d like to examine the library. Er…” he trailed off, looking at the kitten- Eres- curled up in a chair.

“Go ahead and wake him up, he’s a lazy blighter anyways,” she said, grinning.

Carlos scratched the top of the kitten’s head for a moment, waking it pleasantly. He couldn’t help but smile when the fluffy little thing uncurled and stretched, then sat up, blinking patiently at him.

“Right. I’d, um, I’d like to go to the library,” he told Eres, a bit more certainly. He was starting to get used to animals understanding him.

The kitten shook himself and lept down from the chair, and trotted to the door.

“Thank you for the discussion, Dana. You’ve answered many of my questions,” he called.

“Any time!”

They arrived at the library, and Carlos regarded the pentacle for a long moment, taking a deep breath in, and letting it out in one big huff. Right. Science.

When Cecil emerged, it was well past morning. The Lilithian was nursing a heavy mug of powerful-smelling coffee and looked haggard. His tattoo had crept up his neck, all the way to the bottoms of his ears and under his chin, and trailed darkly over his knuckles like the henna of an Hindi bride. Carlos couldn’t tell how much farther it extended over the rest of his body- he was dressed, but roughly, in a dark emerald untucked shirt, black trousers with needle-thin silver pinstripes, no necktie, vest, jacket, or shoes. His eyes were slightly red and puffy. He looked, in a word, extremely fatigued.

Carlos, having spent the past several hours trying to take apart the entire summoning process and otherworld with science, was having none of this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iLock guessed right! Earl :3 I want to speak about the guesses everyone else had, I want to tell you things that will give away the rest of the story. I want to give SPOILERS. Alas, I'm not in the market for spoilers. Probably a good thing. This chapter was a lot of the past- I wasn't too satisfied with the content, but the next chapter is lots of Cecil and Carlos interaction *wiggly suggestive brow motions*


	16. Teamwork

When Cecil emerged, it was well past morning. The Lilithian was nursing a heavy mug of powerful-smelling coffee and looked haggard. His tattoo had crept up his neck, all the way to the bottoms of his ears and under his chin, and trailed darkly over his knuckles like the henna of an Hindi bride. Carlos couldn’t tell how much farther it extended over the rest of his body- he was dressed, but roughly, in a dark emerald untucked shirt, black trousers with needle-thin silver pinstripes, no necktie, vest, jacket, or shoes. His eyes were slightly red and puffy. He looked, in a word, extremely fatigued.

Carlos, having spent the past several hours trying to take apart the entire summoning process and otherworld with science, was having none of this.

“Cecil! I’ve found the most fascinating things- modified sumerian has links all the way back to the Egyptians, perhaps past- your library is magnificent and vast, by the way- and there are tales back then of dispelling spirits, and see this glyph here, and here, on your pentacle? There are pictograms of the same glyphs appearing in ancient egypt!

“And this- the edge of the pentacle is traced with this fine yellow powder- it’s sulfur! Sulfur has been seen in relation to demons for centuries. Especially here, where Ruffth had spouted that foul substance from his mouth, it didn’t remain that sludge, it became this sulfur powder, except for a little in the bottom in the middle, so I hypothesized that the exposure to light or air caused it to revert to this simple form and broke it down. I managed to get a sample of the sludge from the pile and examined it- it reacts violently with any kind of organic substance and is reduced to sulfur, even dead organic things like the wood of the floor. I had to extract it with a glass pipette, I have a small amount saved and in a dark box, in the glass pipette, to examine beneath my microscope, and test further,” he went on excitedly.

Cecil blinked at him several times. “How… neat.”

Carlos laughed without restraint. “I suppose it is ‘neat’. I’m sorry, I’m going on and on- it’s probably boring, you probably would rather have a more relaxed afternoon, I’m just very excited about all this.”

“No, it’s not boring at all. I’m very into science these days,” Cecil said with a crooked smile, settling himself into a short, plush chair. His limbs folded like an accordion, and it was as though he was tiny, though Carlos knew he was of a quite respectable height.

“Well, I’ll still wait until tomorrow, or the day after, when you’re recovered, before I request a blood sample,” Carlos said, returning the smile.

“No, if you need it for science, go ahead!” Cecil said, eyes wide. “Don’t worry on my account!”

“Cecil, I’m not taking your blood today, not when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Cecil snorted, and Carlos rolled his eyes.

“Like a fatigued, overworked, wrecked, perfect gentleman, offering up his blood just so his friend won’t get upset. Cecil, don’t worry about it- I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied, you trust me,” Carlos said with certainty.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure. I can quiet down, or go work in the lab downstairs if you’d wish,” he said kindly.

“No! No, I would like to watch and listen to you work. I’ve been in this house, mostly alone, for years, I like having the presence of another around,” he said, a small smile turning his lips up. He hesitated, then added, “And I especially appreciate the presence of someone so perfect.” He blushed immediately after saying it, and Carlos laughed again.

“I appreciate the compliment, but I assure you that perfect I’m not.”

Cecil’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, just shook his head slightly and buried his nose in his mug.

And Carlos was pleased to find he enjoyed Cecil’s presence as well. He rather liked the attention, and being watched, and being able to bounce a few ideas off Cecil occasionally- for most, Cecil stayed silent, and it was a content silence- but it was his presence that truly gave Carlos ease. There was something just so refreshing about Cecil- like a clean, sharp winter breeze, or a warming and slowly burning desert sun. It was as though Carlos had been half asleep for a long time, and was finally so very awake.

Science, the unknown, and Cecil. Carlos was in his element.

He was trying to figure out why the diameter of the circle didn’t make sense with its circumference, muttering to himself about lapses in space and the possibility of folding dimensions, and turned to ask Cecil a question- and saw he had dozed off in his chair.

Carlos couldn’t prevent a smile from turning up the corners of his mouth- he didn’t even try.

His mug was hanging from his hand, loose fingers through the handle the only thing keeping it from falling. His chin was tucked, resting on his clavicle, hair a feathery halo around his face, eyes relaxed and closed, legs sprawled in front of him, and he was snoring lightly- a gentle sort of whistling snore, that was pleasant rather than irksome.

A peculiar affection for the half-human dimensional guardian stirred within Carlos, and he had the strangest desire to crawl in the chair with him and tuck that blonde mess under his chin.

Instead, he carefully took the mug from his fingers and found a thin blanket on a chair further in the library, and pulled it over him. His questions could wait. He gently, so as not to wake him, brushed a hand through his hair, and it was just as downy soft as the first time he’d done it, when reassuring him of his worth the previous night.

Closer to his face, Carlos could see the swollen skin around his eyes better, and the tiniest bit of what looked like salt at the corner of one of his eyes. His heart felt large and heavy in his chest, and he sighed deeply. The instinct to wrap himself around Cecil and protect him from the world rumbled again, but he resisted, instead choosing to return to his science.

It was nearly two hours later when Cecil woke with a start, snorting in an undignified way, jerking his head up. Carlos laughed, and Cecil scowled at him.

“I don't recall falling asleep with a blanket,” Cecil observed.

“No, I did that. I hope you weren't too warm- it's an old habit from living with my parents. Both of them habitually fell asleep in chairs and on couches. I did as well, when I was at the university,” he explained with a shrug.

“No, I wasn't too warm... thank you,” Cecil said earnestly, smiling slightly. He glanced at the window. “Do you have the time?”

Carlos pulled out his pocket watch and checked it- he didn't trust any of the clocks in Night Vale, none of them seemed to match up or make any sense. “About five in the afternoon. Why?”

“It's Thursday, isn't it?”

“It is,” Carlos said with a laugh.

“There's a soiree at Teddy William's tonight. You should go,” Cecil said, stretching his arms above his head.

“Are you going?” Carlos asked.

“Like this?” Cecil said sarcastically, holding up his hands and lifting his chin. “No cravat or collar can hide this, and gloves are very out this season,” he said matter-of-factly. It was true- the part about being unable to hide his tattoo, Carlos didn't know if gloves were in or not. His tattoo was vivid black against his alabaster skin, immediately noticeable.

“Why do you hide what you do and what you are from the town? They may avoid you less if they understood the truth,” Carlos questioned.

“Carlos,” Cecil huffed admonishing. “They sort of suspect I'm a sorcerer right now, can you imagine what would happen if they knew I was barely half human? And anyways, some minds can't take it. I would hate to be responsible for a quarter of the town going mad, especially after how hard I've worked to protect them.”

“I see. Well. I don't think I want to go to the party, I'd rather work in your company. I'd like to continue with my research, as well- I haven't even started reading the books you have on the otherworld,” Carlos decided.

“Carlos, please, you don't have to not attend on my account. I won't feel bad if you go without me.”

“No, it's not that, I truly don't believe I would enjoy myself if you weren't there,” Carlos said honestly. Cecil blinked, looking slightly confused, but nodded.

“Your choice. But if you do ever attend a party with me, I insist on choosing your attire. You dress very plainly,” Cecil chided with a smile.

“Cecil, I have a bit more girth than you,” Carlos pointed out. He wasn't fat- days of forgetting to feed himself lunch, so wrapped up in his science, ensured a stomach that wasn't round- but he'd inherited his grandfather's stature, from his mother's side- broad shoulders and a frame that was naturally inclined to look more like a laborer than a doctor.

“You doubt my resources? Dana can do absolute magic with a needle and a thread, and so can I, for that matter- though my magic is less actual magic and more skill,” he sniffed.

“You sew?”

“I do. I believe it's a skill that any self-sufficient person should have- all this business of women depending on men, and men depending on women, it's silly. Anyone should be able to support themselves, if that means men sewing and women working,” he said firmly. “The classical 'roles' of men and women are so... archaic. If we want a progressive world, then we must each step up and stop compartmentalizing each other. Women can contribute as much to the world as men, and men can contribute as much to the household as women.”

Carlos smiled- Cecil was, once again, denying the classical rules of society and philosophy with blunt logic. And after seeing his sisters be brilliant- his older sister marrying a poor merchant and deftly manipulating his business to become fantastically rich, and his little sister a young Mozart, interested in mastering sound and physics- he couldn't help but agree with Cecil's statement.

“I like your way of thinking. It’s creative, yet logical. But- while you’re awake, and since neither of us are going to the party…” he trailed off hesitantly.

“Yes?” Cecil prodded, eyes bright, leaning his chin his knuckles.

“Do you think I could examine your tattoo further?” he said in a rushed breath, eager and hoping he would agree, hoping it wasn’t too invasive.

“Oh! Of- yes, of course,” Cecil agreed quickly.

“Can I examine them still on the skin, first? And I have some questions,” Carlos said, going back to the table where he’d brought up a few supplies from his lab gear.

“Feel free!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these fucking adorable dorks I s2g
> 
> ALSO MY SISTER GOT ME A SHERIFF'S SECRET POLICE HOODIE FOR MY BIRTHDAY and I have SUCH plans for it, folks. Such lovely plans. Which I will probably put on my tumblr, when I get to them. but- SOON! (I don't have it yet, the size she ordered was giant so we sent it back to exchange. But SOON.)


	17. When Did This Storm Begin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would update soon, but I made a mistake- I didn't actually have enough material typed out to post, so that's why I'm not posting exactly when I said. But! Here it is! This also means that I may not post again for about a week, sorry.

“Okay, first I’m going to take a simple skin swab- one of plain skin, one of the tattoo,” he explained as he dampened a cotton ball and wiped his skin, then wiped his tattoo with a second swab, sealing them in individual glass vials. He hummed thoughtfully as he pondered how to go about quantifying the difference in skin temperature from his normal skin to the skin of his manifestation, and finally decided to put the thermometer in the crease of his elbow and have him fold his arm around it, first with the thermometer bulb on tattoo, then on white skin.

“Will manifesting your tattoos make them larger? I know you’re trying to let them recede a little,” Carlos asked. “And you said the more use of your elsething half, the larger it gets.”

“I should’ve clarified- It’s not the manifestation that make them increase, it’s the contact with the otherworld,” Cecil explained as the tattoos appeared to peel back, becoming three dimensional. They curled back from his skin like ferns growing and unfurling in rapid-motion. “So using them with elsethings, or reaching through the rift- those will increase them.”

“What happened when you went to the otherworld?” Carlos asked curiously, getting a bit of ink to make a sort of fingerprint of the textured side of the tendrils. They shivered in his hand as Cecil brought forward the memory

“My entire body was covered in the tattoos, from my nose and brow to the soles of my feet. I couldn’t leave the estate for a full month before they were gone from my face, and another three months before it was off my legs,” he said in a low voice.

Carlos’s eyebrows lifted. "Was it a solid layer of black, or still in patterns like this? Was it symmetrical on your body- did the right side of your face match the left? Did you feel strange?"

"Of course I felt strange, I was, for the first time in my living memory, nearly equal posts human and elsething. I felt… shuddery,” he said, furrowing his brow. “As though I could feel the two halves of my heritage trying to push apart, like when you try to push the wrong ends of the magnets together- they slide and bump and they can be put together, but it’s very… resistant. Unstable. As a scientist, I’m sure you understand.” Carlos nodded and smiled. The use of magnets- science- to explain pleased him, and Cecil brightened proudly. “It was the twists and turns of black in lengths like you see usually, not solid. And it was asymmetrical.”

“How do you know if you’re afraid of mirrors?” Carlos asked casually, then realized what he’d said and bit his lip.

“I… I’m not afraid of mirrors,” Cecil said shortly, his tattoos curling like snail shells. “I just… they’re dangerous and not worth risking it. I could see my face in the reflection of a spoon.”

“Of course, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Carlos apologized quickly. “I- well, Dana told me. But you’re right, it’s all fine. Could I please paint your hand to get a print?”

“Sure. Both hands, or just one?” Capricious, Cecil was. The slight appeared already forgotten.

“Both, if you don’t mind.”

“Alright. What is the print for?” he asked curiously, holding out his hands and allowing Carlos to brush a thin layer of ink across his palms, coating his fingers as well. “I’m quite intrigued with science presently.”

“Well, the texture on your fingers- if you look carefully, you can see whorls and patterns on your fingers and fingertips- is much like a snowflake. It is suspected that everyone in the entire world has a unique texture pattern. No two finger textures are alike. There is talk of using the prints left from the texture and the oil naturally found on skin to identify people. I noticed your tattoo has a textured side, which makes sense, it allows for grip, and was curious if it was related at all to the texture of your hands,” he explained, finishing painting one palm and fingers and carefully pressing his hand to a flat sheet of parchment. He washed the hand of ink with a wet cloth, and started painting the other hand. Cecil hummed contentedly, reclining in his chair.

“That feels nice,” he said simply. “It feels like being pampered.”

Carlos wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply smiled.

“You know, I rarely have physical contact with people. I live in this house, separated from the town, with Dana, and she’s often busy, and isn’t a very personal woman- she doesn’t like casual touching gestures. Even at parties, folks seem to react to any touch from me- a friendly handshake, a pat on the shoulder, even an accidental bump- as dangerous and worrying.”

Carlos thought about that for a moment, pressing Cecil’s hand to another piece of parchment. “That sounds very lonely. Have you never… taken a companion?” he asked, rubbing the ink from Cecil’s ivory skin firmly with the cloth.

“A companion? Dana is a companion, and all her familiars treat me well, as I them, and-,”

“I don’t mean a friend, I mean… a partner. Courted someone,” he said, stammering.

“Oh.”

They both blushed in silence for a moment.

“Well. Not… no, not exactly. I mean… only once. It was a brief companionship, I would never deem it a courtship. On that trip to Europe I mentioned at Mrs. Winchell’s party, I spent a time in Svitz, and I had… a sort of… he was a traveling partner, it began in the most honest of ways, there was a single hostel and rather than fight over it, we shared it, and one thing led to another…” he trailed off, red all the way to the tips of his ears. “The shack was on an incline, we kept rolling into each other,” he said, almost pleadingly, trying to explain.

Carlos held up his hands, showing Cecil his palms in a gesture of peace. “As I said before, I have no business telling you how to live your life, I’ve never seen any ethical problems with sexual deviance. As long as all parties are willing and comfortable, there shouldn’t be an issue.”

Cecil beamed at that, and Carlos couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, I suppose there’s no reason for me to be so bashful and uncomfortable, if you’re not uncomfortable either.”

“I… I’m not asking this for personal reasons, it’s purely for science, I promise… But I have a few questions about that. I have no knowledge of this… notion. Any of this. And the fourth thing a scientist is, is curious,” he said carefully.

“Ask away,” Cecil said with delight. He seemed pleased to be part of Carlos’s science, and to have someone to speak to.

“Did you ever try women before you realized your intimate preferences?”

“No, and I didn’t need to. You know when you hear a song you love? Something truly stirring. And you know, that is your favorite. You don’t need to listen to other things to know that it’s your favorite, you just know. That’s the best way I can describe it. Or a favorite food- you don’t have to try every other meal in the world to know that you like that particular dish,” he said, that low creamy baritone slow as he tried to express what he meant.

“That… well, that makes perfect sense, when you put it that way,” Carlos accepted. “What about when you realized you were deviant?”

“I feel as though I always knew, but never realized that it was important until I was probably thirteen- I had a tutor who was always talking about introducing me to the pretty young girls my age in town, and that was when I was able to put words to the sensation of disinterest toward the female gender and vice versa. She hushed me, and said I would grow to love women more than men- but she said girls and boys- and I understood what was truly meant, that it was unnatural and disgraceful,” he huffed.

“Unnatural? As in, not part of nature?” Carlos scoffed. “Have you never seen rabbits when there’s no female? They still… fraternize. With each other. Most animals practice same-sex relations. It is not ‘unnatural.’ And disgrace is just a matter of opinion, like saying that I don’t like the color yellow. People don’t like the sexually deviant. It is a bias, nothing more.”

"You know, people don't talk about that. Your science is so... So refreshing. Its factual and open to discussion and interpretation. Its lovely," he sighed.

"You'll find it intrusive and heartless eventually, I'm sure," Carlos laughed. "Probably sooner more than later.”

Carlos did a few more tests- refusing to take any blood, even though Cecil insisted almost aggressively, but he didn’t want to take it in his tired state- and they dined, and parted for bed. Carlos’s head was whirling with data that he’d collected and future tests to be performed. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep, but he sank into unconsciousness immediately upon getting in bed.

And was woken by shouting and banging.

He thrashed, alarmed, his mind catapulting back into the waking world, and fell out of bed. He managed to untangle himself and throw on a robe, struggling to tie the sash as he stumbled out into the hall.

Dana was down the hall, and Cecil was emerging from his room as well, still buttoning his trousers and shirt. She was tying a cravat on his neck to help hide the tattoo’s marks, and he had a pair of gloves tucked under his arm. She was speaking rapidly to him.

“-not sure who did it, he was nearly incoherent when he arrived. I’m not even sure how long ago it happened- there was blood on his face and he looked like he’d staggered around for a while before he made it here, on foot. From what he said, I’m not sure there will even be anything left. Carlos!” Dana cried, noticing him.

Cecil looked up, eyes wide, face grim, as he pulled on the gloves. “Carlos, please go back to bed. There’s been a, er, small ‘incident’, and there’s no need for you to come along.”

Carlos snorted. “I’m coming. You’ll have to explain what happened on the way, but I’m not useless. I’m a scientist,” he reminded him.

“Fine, but you’ll stay in the cab. Come- John Peters, you know, the farmer? He’s downstairs. He’ll tell us what happened, and then we’ll go,” Cecil said quickly, dashing down the stairs two at a time. Carlos had to all but run to keep up with his long strides.

“He arrived only a few minutes ago, banging on the door and hollering. I found him standing on the step, looking crazed, with blood in his hair and on his face, saying something about demons at the party. He said he didn’t know if anyone else made it, he and Miss Simone and Carlsberg made it out, but Simone had one of her episodes- she has epilepsy- and Carlsberg stayed with her.”

“Of all people to make it out, why _Steve Carlsberg_? And not someone useful, like Mr. Telly, or really anyone is more useful than _Carlsberg_. Too bad he wasn’t the one bleeding from the head, not poor John Peters, you know, the farmer,” Cecil hissed.

" _Anyway_ ," Dana said, rolling her eyes, "I left him downstairs with Khoshekh and a few others to tend to his wounds. I put him in a health sleep so he'll heal faster and won't be alarmed by cats and armadillos and a large rat patching him up."

Carlos resolved to ask what a healing sleep was later- at the moment, there were more pressing concerns. "Do you think this is the work of elsethings?"

"Well, he was talking about demons and monsters, so whatever happened, its not ofworldly, so falls under my jurisdiction," Cecil replied.

"But- what about the- the warning! After- Ruffth should've-,"

"I don't know," Cecil said curtly as they turned into the entrance. Carlos didn’t press the matter, because they were in the hall, and there was John Peters, you know, the farmer.

“Mr. Palmer! Mr. Palmer, I have _no idea_ what just went down at that party, but it’s bad, it’s all gone very bad,” the man cried the moment his eyes opened. He was sitting on a bench, his head excellently wrapped, looking perfectly fine aside from the bandage around his head. Beneath the bench, Carlos saw four sets of pleased-looking eyes, four yellow cat eyes, four black beady eyes.

“Calm down, I’ll get this all under control-,” Cecil started, but the man cut him off.

“Don’t bog me down, son, you didn’t see what I saw. A flock- a hoard!- a hoard of creatures came down the chimney like some hellish Christmas miracle, and they were all in the air, so thick you couldn’t see the room. Everyone was screaming, even some of the men. I don’t know if the demons were killing everyone or dragging them down to the pit, I don’t know. I saw Miss Simone fall and grabbed her, and I thought I’d get her out of harm’s way before going back in, but when I tried to go back in, I fell in all the ruckus. Mr. Carlsberg was heading out and saw me and helped me up, and I said I was going to the Palmer estate, and I went,” he explained roughly.

“Of course, Carlsberg wouldn’t use his brain and do something useful,” Cecil scoffed. “And this was at Mr. Williams’ place?”

“Yes it was.”

“Good. You can stay here and rest, we’ll go make things right,” Cecil said. He nodded at Dana, who spoke a word and gestured, and John Peters slumped back down. The animals under the bench (two cats, an armadillo, and a rat) climbed out. Carlos glanced down at himself- he was still in soft bedpants and a robe. He felt a nudge against the back of his calf, and looked down. An enormous, flat-faced, shaggy cat had a pair of trousers and a shirt folded neatly over his back, which Carlos hesitantly accepted. He noticed Dana smiling brightly at him and thanked her, despite the long orange hairs all over his trousers.

“You can dress in the cab. We need to go,” Cecil said briskly, striding out the massive doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strange happenings, folks.
> 
> I write all of this in a massive Google Doc, the entire thing, and copy/paste chunks (I try for at least 3 pages) for each chapter. So it's a pretty big document. I haven't been able to write much because the document is now so big that when I try to open it on my phone, it freezes. I've had to start a new doc and have to keep going back and forth between the two so I can keep everything straight. Mess mess mess.
> 
> But I'm finally writing the real plotty bit, the parts I've been building up to and dragging out the confusion around, and I'm ENJOYING IT. Action! Thrill! Mystery! Typical Night Vale Weirdness!


	18. Your Presence is Requested

“You can dress in the cab. We need to go,” Cecil said briskly, striding out the massive doors. The cab was already at the front- Dana jumped up to drive, graceful and mindless of her skirts. He and Cecil climbed in the cab.

Carlos changed with difficulty in the cab, grateful that Cecil covered his eyes to preserve his modesty and comfort. Dana’s driving was fast, but rough- they both were severely rattled by the time it jolted to a stop. Mr. Williams’ house looked unscathed, from the outside. The other two escapees were sitting on the grass, Mr. Carlsberg hollow-eyed, Miss Simone angry.

“Talk to them, I’m going in,” Cecil said, already out the door and jogging up to the house. He threw the door open and went inside. Carlos looked worriedly after him, but dashed over to Mr. Carlsberg and Miss Simone.

“Are you two alright?” he asked, prioritizing his questions. Make sure everyone was okay. Help Cecil. Find out what happened. Science.

“We’re fine,” Simone said sharply.

“John Peters, you know, the farmer,” Carlos said, strangely unable to not add the second bit on to his name, “said you had an episode. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, everything is working, I’ve already checked my pulse and pupil reflex and nerve function,” she said. Carlos blinked. “Go help the others.”

He wavered for a second, and looked at Steve.

“He’s fine too,” she said firmly before Carlos or Steve could speak. “Go.”

She seemed serious, so Carlos nodded and followed Cecil into the house. He opened the door cautiously, every muscle tense, adrenaline making his body feel tight and thrumming with blood and energy.

The house was empty.

Everything looked just as it should- no clawmarks on the walls, no feathers on the floor, furniture upright and undamaged. Even the glasses on the tables were upright, with no signs of spills. The only issue was-

“Everyone is gone,” Cecil said, coming around a corner, jaw grim and eyes slightly wild.

“Where?” Carlos asked, bewildered. Not a creature, human or otherwise, stirred in the house. The pause was thin as glass, hoping to be broken by anyone, anyone still inside.

The Lilithian wordlessly handed Carlos a piece of paper.

It was a five inch by three inch rectangle of heavy, expensive paper, like a dance card at a ball. The edges were filigreed with a peculiar yellow gloss, and lace patterns traced over the back of the card. A triangular watermark backed the words, which were looping, professional script. The ink was black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll hopefully post again tomorrow- this chapter is so short! But no guarantees. I've got a fairly busy schedule tomorrow. And I've just entered the capricious unstable state called 'mourning'. Things are weird. I could use a smile. Share your reactions as charity for fox's sanity? Please, folks, spare a rage-filled comment?


	19. Absent

_You are formally invited to the Company Picnic, per request of Strex Co._

Carlos stared at it, rereading it twice with disbelief, and then another time with confusion, just to be sure.

“Everyone has vanished… there were _monsters_ here… John Peters came to your house _bleeding_ … and this is what we find?” Carlos said, baffled. “A picnic invitation?”

“I don’t know anything that you don’t know. This is as obscenely confusing to me as well,” Cecil huffed, rubbing his temples.

Carlos wandered in, looking at the corners of all the tables to see if he could find blood where John Peters hit his head, but saw nothing. Cecil stuck his head in the room.

"I'm about to ask Miss Simone and Carlsberg what they saw. You'll probably want to hear what they say," he said. Carlos nodded and followed him outside.

Simone spoke- Steve still seemed shaken and withdrawn. She described the same scene John Peters had.

"With no warning, they flooded the room. The smallest were the size of my fist, the largest a little bigger than a cat. They all had skeletal, leathery wings and high, reedy voices. If I didn’t know better, I would've called them imps. They were all fluttering around and hitting things and each other and grabbing hair and pearls and hats and buttons, screeching and laughing the whole time. I had my fit- when I returned to myself, I could still hear the chaos inside, but then it went silent. And its been silent ever since."

"Does the word 'Strex' mean anything to you, Miss Simone?" Carlos asked.

"No. Why? Wait- no, don't say anything. This is one of those things where the less I know, the safer I am, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so," Cecil said. "We can give you a ride home. If we find everyone, we'll let you know."

They drove them to their house (Miss Simone had to hold Carlsberg's arm and help him) and returned to the estate.

"What now, then?" Carlos asked.

"More inquiries."

Carlos regarded him for a moment. "You're going to do a summoning." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Cecil led the way up the stairs to the library. The quiet hung for another moment, and then Cecil's silent reserve broke. He groaned and rubbed his face. "This is _such_ a mess! I can't _believe_ this happened. I just can't. I mean, I hear about this kind of thing happening in other places, and other times. And that's just it- it happens there. You don't think that it'll happen to you- you think, 'oh that's quite terrible, what a shame,' and you are secretly relieved that it doesn't happen on your watch, but not even all that relieved because you never expect it to happen on your watch anyways. Its just... Ugh."

"It'll be fine, we'll handle it. I'll help however I can, and you'll do what needs to be done, and it'll turn out fine. If it happens to others, and they make out fine, it'll happen to us and be fine too," he reassured his companion.

Cecil looked sideways at him. "I said it happened to others, I didn't say that they made it out."

“Ah. Well…” he cast around for something encouraging to say. “Well… I imagine those others didn’t have a scientist to help them,” he said, immediately blushing and silently chastising himself. It came out sounding conceited.

Luckily, it somehow brightened Cecil right up. “Of course! You’re absolutely right, they didn’t! We have _science_ on our side!” He said _science_ the same way someone would say ‘dragons’ or ‘unicorns’ or ‘God’. It made Carlos a bit worried, and a weight fell on his shoulders. He’d gone and put his foot in it now- he’d fully committed to this. Not just helping, but being an active, equal ‘hero’ or whatnot. Not helping Cecil, but working with Cecil.

But… he wasn’t a hero. He was a scientist.

“We’re going to summon Ruffth. He mentioned things in motion- maybe he wasn’t blustering,” Cecil said with certainty.

“What about your… your tattoo?” Carlos asked suddenly, catching sight of Cecil’s gloves and remembering the slow creep of it across his skin.

“What about it?”

“Well… it’s going to get bigger.”

“Yes.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“I’m going to restore my town. At the cost of my vanity,” he said with a sigh, throwing open the doors of the library.

“At the cost of your _humanity_ , Cecil, not your vanity. You said the last time your tattoo got too big it unbalanced your human half.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not at that point yet, nor will one or two more summonings put it there,” he huffed, tossing his gloves onto a table and starting to unbutton his shirt. Carlos helpfully began lighting the candles, frowning. A creeping suspicion was tugging at the edge of his mind.

“But what if… what if this is what they want?”

Cecil stopped and gave him a flat stare that he was beginning to associate with ‘obvious’ things about the otherworldly. “What do you mean by ‘this’ and ‘they’ and ‘want’?”

“I mean… this, as in you overloading yourself with your elsething half, and they, as in the elsethings, and want, as in goals.”

“One of the first things you’ll learn about the otherworldly is that it’s illogical. Chaotic. There’s no big goal, there’s no ‘they’, just several ‘them’s, they don’t make plans, they don’t work together, they want nothing,” he said firmly, “but mess. There’s no hierarchy over there, no organization, they all act independently. Occasionally two or three might do something together. But there’s no leader. No one higher order to set in motion plans. It’s… anarchy. Complete and total anarchy.”

“I see.” It made sense, but something still made him uneasy. “But… the swarm of elsethings that attacked the party, that was many of them and they worked together.”

“Those are… well, the otherworld has animals just like we do. They aren’t really ‘elsethings’, they aren’t sentient and literate and don’t have language. They’re pets, really. They’re called implings,” Cecil explained. “So, really, it doesn’t count.”

Carlos nodded and stepped back from the circle. “Alright. Ruffth, then?”

“Indeed,” Cecil said grimly. He did his little warm-up bounce, and then spoke the summoning. The rift opened, and he spoke Ruffth’s name-

-and all the candles blew out all at once, leaving the room in complete darkness. Carlos froze, staying perfectly still, internally panicking but forcing himself to remain outwardly calm. What had happened? Had Ruffth broken out? Were they under attack? Was Cecil okay?

A sound- Carlos flinched so hard he pulled a muscle in his back- and there was a small amount of light. Cecil was holding a match in his tendrils, and relighting candles around the room- but not the ones around the pentacle. Lamps and the fireplace, to give the room light.

“What was that?” Carlos whispered, fearful.

“That,” Cecil said with a frustrated huff, “was the summoning failing.”

“Failing? Why?!”

“Because Ruffth can’t be summoned to the rip, because he’s not in the otherworld.”

Carlos was silent for a long moment. “Does that mean… does that mean he’s dead? Or he’s… here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Is there any way to tell?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe there’s something in the books…” he turned and picked up the massive tome from the table. “See if you can find anything. There are books that are in… well, some english and some other languages. But there are books that are not in sumerian.”

Carlos nodded and began browsing the books. He looked for anything that had to do with mortality or demise or detection. It was slow work, but not because he was a slow reader- he was actually extraordinarily fast. His problem was being distracted. Time after time he found himself reading things that were dead fascinating, but nothing to do with dead elsethings. He gave a guilty start and dragged himself from a text describing eldritch ritual when Cecil dropped a book.

He turned and looked- the Lilithian was blinking owlishly, sitting up and looking around.

“Were you asleep?” Carlos asked, a laugh in his voice. Cecil scowled, but nodded and leaned forward, resting his face in his hands with a groan. “Look, I’m distracted because I’m tired, and you’re asleep because you’re tired, and we’re not doing anyone any good in this state. Even if we found something helpful, we’d be in no state to get them back. We should turn in and resume once we’re fully functional again.”

“I know, you’re right,” Cecil sighed. “But I just… I can hardly bear the idea of sleeping soundly while my town is void-knows-where being held by void-knows -what.”

“Dana mentioned she has an excellent sleeping draught,” Carlos suggested.

“No, I’ll fall asleep with ease, and I can handle dreams. It’s my conscience in the morning, or when we find them, that will need soothing,” Cecil said, but stood anyways. Carlos stood as well, and they trooped silently to their rooms, exchanging sleepy nods before going to their respective beds.

When Carlos woke, it was to bright sun and birds chirping and the scent of a really good day coming in his window. He stretched and lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the soft bed and moment to relax.

Relaxation ended when he remembered what had happened in the night. He rose, washed, and dressed quickly, before going out into the hall. Eres was sleeping outside his door- at his emergence, the kitten shook himself awake and led him down to the kitchen.

Cecil was eating toast and cheese and bitter, creamy coffee. Carlos glanced around the room, and Cecil spoke up at his questioning looks.

“Looking for Dana? She’s been out laying spells of tracking and finding all night, getting as much done as she could before the sun could rise. Witchly power is broken down some by sunlight,” he explained. “She’s resting now.”

“Did she find anything?”

“Would I be sitting here if she had? No, nothing helpful. As soon as you’re finished breakfast, I plan on making inquiries about this ‘Strex Co’, as they’re probably our biggest lead. The invitation is the key, I know it,” he sighed.

 

 


	20. Knock Knock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good heavens I got so many comments and I'm so weak to peer pressure and fan love that I just couldn't not update again. And I'm writing more frequently now! Yay!
> 
> Another familiar face up next. And something else familiar.

“Would I be sitting here if she had? No, nothing helpful. As soon as you’re finished breakfast, I plan on making inquiries about this ‘Strex Co’, as they’re probably our biggest lead. The invitation is the key, I know it,” he sighed.

“The invitation is an obvious trap,” Carlos insisted, helping himself to breakfast.

“What other routes do you propose? The house is a dead end, Ruffth is a dead end, and I’m fairly sure _Steve Carlsberg_ doesn't have any helpful hints as a witness,” he said with a scoff.

“What about Jose?” Carlos presented carefully. Cecil paled, and the visible bits of his manifestation- at his collar and on his hands- rippled with unease.

“I’d like to go to her last, if at all possible.”

“Why is everyone so terrified of her?” Carlos huffed.

“She’s… she would take control of the situation. Once, when I was very young, I was visiting her. We were on her porch, and she was knitting, and I was playing with a tennis racquet and ball, and a bird struck her window. It didn’t die, but bent its wing so severely it couldn't fly. She didn't even get up, just leaned far out of her chair and struck it in the neck with a knitting needle. I still remember the snap. And she looked right at me as she resumed knitting with the needle she’d just killed with, and said ‘When things are broken, you must fix them. When they’re broken beyond repair, there are still ways to fix them.’”

Carlos mulled that over. That, on top of her ‘solution’ to Cecil’s heartbreak over Earl, made him pause. What if she decided Cecil was more important than half the town, and just made him forget they left?

“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “Is there anyone else we can ask?”

“Not that I can think of,” he sighed. And then he tilted his head, furrowing his brow.

“Did you have an idea?” Carlos asked eagerly.

“No. Someone’s at the door.”

“Well… we should go see who it is,” Carlos said pointedly.

“Right! Of course! Let’s go.” They jumped up and hurried to the door, Cecil tugging on a pair of gloves and knotting a cravat around his neck to help hide his marks.

When they opened it, Simone was standing on the step, wringing her hands.

“Miss Simone? What can we do for you?” Carlos asked, surprised.

“Well… I think it’s what I can do for you. Or… it’s what she can do for you,” she said, hesitant and uncertain for the first time Carlos had ever heard her be.

“Oh! Simone, but how do you know them?” Cecil gasped excitedly. Carlos gave him a sharp sideways glance. His eyes were fixed on a point about at Simone’s elbow and to the side.

Simone looked at Carlos, then to her side. "He's mortal, cut him some slack." She appeared to be addressing the air.

A young girl shimmered into view, scowling.

Carlos sucked in a breath and touched all his fingers to his thumb, one at a time.

"She's fae. Cecil, Carlos, this is Tamika," Simone introduced. Carlos couldn't help but stare. The girl- the fae- Tamika- she had the dark complexion like Dana, but much darker, and had her hair in the exotic dreadlocks style, and was completely normal looking. She had a book tucked under her arm. She looked to be barely thirteen- but then, she also looked like air a moment ago.

"I know them because I'm a changeling- sorry I never told you before," Simone said casually. "But fae, as a rule, don't work with the otherworld."

"Fairies- fae- can have epilepsy?" Carlos asked.

"I don't have epilepsy, just iron sickness."

"Right. Of course."

"When Simone heard what you said, she came right to me," Tamika said impatiently. "We've had dealings with this 'Strex' before."

"Oh, thank the void. I don't know anything about them, this is the first I've heard of them. We were just eating breakfast, wondering how to go about investigating it all," Cecil said, opening the door wide.

"Have you never dealt with the fair folk before?" Tamika demanded. "You have to invite us in."

"I apologize- you're right, I've hardly had any exposure to your people, I knew you existed, but little else. Please, come in, be welcome in my home."

"Maureen is fae," Simone added helpfully as they entered.

"Maureen, the gardener? I wondered what happened to her," he said, impressed.

"She returned to my court after the orange incident and advised us to steer clear of you and your ilk,” Tamika snorted.

“Really? Shame. I liked her.”

“The feeling was not mutual.”

“Sorry to interrupt, and sorry if I ask any rude questions, please forgive my ignorance… but I’m fairly new to all this and I’d like to be caught up, please. Fae? Fair folk? You were invisible- how? What’s a changeling?” Carlos asked.

“Yes. We’re often called ‘fairies’, but the term is derogatory and naive. Fae come in several races with little differences- pixies, elfkind, trollian, gnomer, and so on. Much like humans can be english, french, russian, african, indian, and all the others. And we intermarry and mix. Both my parents were overall pixie, but my grandfather was an alp. All fae can work glamour- illusion, essentially. We naturally produce glamour to hide us from mortals. And a changeling is made when a fae family has damaged offspring, and they put it in a mortal home, replacing a mortal baby with their fae offspring. This way, the fae will survive. And no, you don’t want to know what happens to the mortal baby. They aren’t harmed, I can tell you that much. Simone is elfkind, and she would’ve died if her family hadn’t put her in the Carlsberg’s home. Even so, she still suffers from iron sickness,” Tamika explained, factual and to the point.

“Thank you for letting me know all this. Now we can discuss the threat of this ‘Strex’ corporation.”

“They’re bad.”

“Well that’s insightful and nothing we knew before now,” Cecil snorted. Tamika looked affronted, and he ducked his head. “Sorry. Go on.”

"Our first run-in with them was far up north. I wasn't there for that, but I know several from my court who were. I heard reports of another clear-cutting campaign in Maine. I usually listen and mourn the loss of our wild places, but this… The high north is cold and hard, but it has retained its freshness and its clarity. It’s one of the last havens in this country and is a necessary bridge to Canada. The wild places are becoming less in this country, and there are fleeing emigrants all the time. I couldn’t go up myself to aid the courts in that area, but I thought they would have it under control. Their roots ran deep, they were strong.”

“They lost?” Carlos said fearfully.

“No, they won, but it wasn’t a true win- Strex still exists, as you can see. It wasn’t so much of a win as a repelling- Strex merely moved West and South, into New York. And it was at a great loss. The area has been massively crippled.

“The next encounter Strex had with the folk was… well, I started it, to be honest. Strex is a corporation- they need buildings. They took to buying out small buildings, and since their tree venture failed, they wanted access to paper. So they targeted anything to do with paper. Chiefly, anything to do with books. Book printing places, libraries and bookstores, none of them were safe. When I found out, my vision became red, and I initiated the fight. I love books,” she said firmly.

“Human books?” Carlos asked curiously.

“Fae don’t often write,” Simone explained. “We create without words- images and things. The few fae who do write are excessive in the details, and it’s nearly impossible to read. While humans leave gaps, descriptions of every part of every thing in the story are omitted. Fae aren’t good at that. So we read human books. We value human writers and poets and journalists above all other humans. No offense to scientists,” she added.

“Or to Lilithians, I’m sure,” Carlos put in with a teasing smile. Simone wavered, and Cecil spoke up.

“I’m not wholly human, Carlos, remember?” Carlos blushed, but Tamika continued.

“I fought to defend the remaining havens for books. Few small ones survived. We are clever and witty and we can be exquisitely malicious, us folk, but for every Strex employee and branch we repelled, two replaced it. Their sheer numbers were overwhelming. That was the only reason they can persist as they do. They are many,” she said, nearly a growl.

“And our final and latest encounter with them was in Nulogorsk.”

“Nulogorsk!” Cecil gasped. “No!”

Simone looked away, frustrated, and Tamika looked solemn. “I’m sorry, Cecil. But Nulogorsk has fallen.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Nulogorsk ring a bell for anyone? (If it doesn't, go back to Ep. 40!)
> 
> I just want to incorporate so many things from the canon NV that it's killing me that there are some things I can't do. I thought so hard on how to bring in the SSP and the wheat-and-wheat-by-products-ban and the dog park and hooded figures and banned pens and other stuff, but with a Victorian Era theme, I just don't see how. But I'm doing what I can!

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a boatload of other WTNV fics, if you need something to keep you busy between updates (hint hint).
> 
> It's a bit embarrassing how much credit I put in kudos's and comments. Seriously, a handful of comments is enough to make me update two days in a row. I'm a pushover. What I mean is, take a second and tell me what you think- any ideas, concerns, critique, favorite/least favorite things. Or your favorite kind of pie, I don't care, I just like to see that my work is actually being read.
> 
> I've also got a tumblr, if anyone wants to pop in and say hi, or discuss anything. My inbox is always open! http://fauxfoxfanatics.tumblr.com/


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